


Normal Normandy

by Jaeme



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: (or an attempt at comedy), Comedy, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sci-Fi, Self-Insert, useless OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7990576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaeme/pseuds/Jaeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrown into a world I know everything about, obviously it’s my destiny to save everyone. Unfortunately for me, real life is not as easy as it seems. With no combat abilities and little-to-no real-life skills, how on earth can I make a difference in this story?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

_ Where am I? _

I peeled my eyes open, eyelids crusted and impossibly heavy. I raised a hand and rubbed at the gunge, rolling the dried beads between my fingers as I tried to squint through the fluorescent glare of the lights. I was on my side, lying on a cold, metal floor. 

_ That wasn't right. I was… Where was I? _

I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed the heel of my palm against my temple in an effort to alleviate to sharp pounding in my skull. After a moment I open my eyes again, this time, looking about myself a bit more.  

All around me were stacks of crates. A storage area? How the hell did I end up here? I knew I’d never been there in my life, and yet there was something about the angles on the crate faces and the exposed pipes and machinery that was somehow incredibly familiar. I just couldn’t place it.

The lights were impossibly bright.

I slid my arm beneath myself and went to stand up but my already hazy vision swims and my head pounded deep in the base of my skull causing me to groan and lie still until it passed. After a few minutes the world seems to have stopped doing cartwheels and settled for a gentler, more manageable sway. Satisfied that I wasn’t going to throw up anytime soon, and rolled into a sitting position, pausing for a moment to let the vertigo subside before using a nearby box to lift myself to my feet.

Safely on my feet, I checked my pockets for my phone and found a few spare hair accessories and an almost empty chapstick tube. I looked about myself but the floor space that I had recently vacated was clear, as was the area around it. 

I sighed. It must be at home. I’d just have to ask a stranger to borrow theirs so I can tell my roommate I’ll be home late.

Now that I was standing, I had a better look about myself. Yep, definitely a storage area of some kind. Aside from the crates and what appeared to be a series of engine mounts, a large door stood at the far end of the room, a glowing green keypad in its centre. Above the door was a viewing window through which I could make out what seemed to be more futuristic doorways with glowing orange centres, the one in the centre being larger and more rectangular than the two flanking it. It kind of looked like an elevator.

Wait... I knew this layout.

It couldn’t be… That window, these crates, the elevator…

The Normandy? I was onboard the Normandy?!

And not just the Normandy, the SR2 which - considering the lack of weights and blue shuttles in the hanger - meant that I was in Mass Effect 2!

I was too busy freaking out to hear the cargo bay door slide open and footsteps falter to a stop.

“Who are you?” a woman’s voice cut through my thoughts. 

I spun around, the movement too sudden causing my head to pound all over again. A young woman wearing white and black fatigues stood in the nearby doorway, glowing orange clipboard in hand. I recognised her as one of those entertaining engineers. What was her name? Gabby?

Before I could so much as wave, she had drawn what looked like a pistol from her belt and was pointing it right at me.

“Kenneth, We’ve got a situation here!” Gabby called through the open door, then she pressed a finger to her ear and started speaking urgently to whoever was listening. “This is Gabby. We have an intruder in the cargo bay. Requesting immediate assistance.”

My vision was still swimming and my voice seemed to be stuck in the back of my throat. I lifted a hand in what I hoped was a calming gesture and made a vague choking noise that completely ruined any efforts to to appear friendly.

“Kenneth!” Gabby shouted again, voice rising in panic. 

She froze suddenly, weapon lowering slightly and I breathed a sigh of relief thinking that maybe she was rethinking shooting me. Unfortunately for me she was just listening to her headpiece and from the was her eyes fixed on me with new found determination could only mean bad things.

Instantly the weapon was trained on me again and I could only watch as her finger squeezed down on the trigger.

I choked out something that sounded almost like, “Wait-!” before a yellow pulse hit me directly between the ribs and I tumbled backwards, head cracking painfully on the floor.

As my vision darkened, I could vaguely hear the highland tones of the other engineer, Kenneth, as he ran in, the two immediately beginning their signature bickering. And then…

Nothing.

I came to in a small, shiny room. Why in God’s name was everything on this ship so bright? I clear my throat and give a deep hum. Good, my voice seems to be working again. I was sitting in a chair, my hands cuffed and attached to the table in front of me. At least I wasn’t strapped to a recliner like that guy in Thane’s loyalty mission. That would have sucked.

Metal cuffs, I notice, rattling the links ruefully. I guess everything can’t be space-y. At least I’m not strapped to the chair like that guy in Thane’s loyalty mission. That would have sucked. 

Still, having the cuffs attached to the table makes it incredibly hard to scratch my back.

Across from myself and the table is a door. Not five seconds after I start examining the door, it opens revealing what has to be the most pleasant surprise of my life.

I’m trying my darndest to keep a straight face but I swear my cheeks are twitching as I fought to stop myself from grinning like an idiot. Why hello, Operative Lawson. Nice to see you, too.

Miranda sat down in the chair opposite me, put down the datapad she was carrying and folded her hands on the table top. She is even more gorgeous in real life than she is in the games, and it only makes her more imposing. A normal person would have been petrified, but I was doing everything in my power to not reach out and touch her face to check that she was real.

We sit for a moment in silence. Me digging my nails into my palms to stay calm, her sizing up the twitchy, ill-dressed girl who had somehow managed to board arguably the most advanced cruiser in the Milky Way.

“Who are you?” she asks. I bite my lip to stop from squealing at how incredibly familiar her voice is; the level delivery, that west-Sydney lilt! I swear part of me died right there and went to heaven.

She’s still staring at me. I haven’t given her an answer yet, and having the death wish I do, I decided to test the waters a bit.

“Cutting right to the chase, are we?” I sat back in my chair, allowing a small grin to lift my lips. “That’s no fun.”

The operative remained unamused. “I’ll ask again, who are you?”

If Miranda was the one talking to me then Shepard was probably out on mission or indisposed, so cooperating until Shepard showed up was my best bet at surviving.

“Jaime.” I said after it became clear she wasn’t going to say anything else.. Jaime Morgan.”

Miranda watched me for a long moment before picking up her datapad and reading something over quickly. God, I felt like I was in a job interview. Usually they get hung up on the fact that I include an Interests section on my resume that only says ‘video games’, but never my name.

“Alright then, Miss Morgan,” I cringed at the honorific but said nothing. Miranda put down the datapad and turned her icy gaze back to me. “Where are you from?”

“Same place as you, it sounds,” I said with a grin. “Just a bit further north.”

Miranda cocked an impressed brow. “You’re a long way from home then.”

_ You have no idea _ , I thought, instead saying, “How far?”

“The other side of the galaxy,” Miranda stated. “We entered the Attican Traverse a few hours ago.”

Terminus System, huh. I remember a vast majority of the early game took place around here. Something about searching for Collectors amongst the more isolated colonies. Nevermind that, Miranda looked about ready to continue with her interrogation.

“How did you get on board?” she all but demanded.

“Magic.” I said, satisfied to watch as Miranda pursed her lips slightly. After a moment she sighs and procures her pistol from her belt, resting it on the table. 

“Nice M-3.” I said with a nod to her weapon.

“It is a personal favourite of mine,” she responded coolly.

I let my grin slip, probably best to not provoke her. I remember from the games just how ruthless Miranda could be if you weren't on her good side. Seeing that she had my attention, Miranda continued, “If you wish to remain alive for much longer you’re going to give me a straight answer: How did you get on board?”

“I don't know.” I said honestly.

“I don't believe you.”

“Now there's a surprise.”

Miranda sat back and crossed one leg over the other. “You show up in the cargo hold with not even a DNA record of who you are in any database. You don't even have an omnitool and yet you were able to sneak onboard and stay undetected until you were found by the engineering staff.” Miranda paused as she looked me up and down. “You can understand this is quite the serious breach in security.”

I hummed and nodded seriously. “That is quite the problem. I'd love to help, but I honestly don't know how I got here. Like you said, I have no tech and I’m hardly dressed for espionage.” I say as I gesture to my old, tie-dyed camp shirt. (Don’t judge. I had dressed for comfort that morning, not style.)

“Then how do you suppose you got on board?”

I shrugged. “Do teleports exist yet?”

Her unamused face told me ‘No’.

“Wait,” I said, something she had said clicking in my head all of a sudden. “You said I don’t exist on  _ any _ databases.”

“That’s correct.”

“Not even facial recognition?”

Miranda shook her head, slightly confused by my own bewilderment.

I don’t exist in this world. Apparently there wasn’t even a record of my ten year online presence. Yet another part of me died thinking about how many accounts I would have to recreate.

Did it affect just me, or was everyone else I know non-existent too? I had so many questions but the more pressing matter was the frowning woman before me. She must have noticed my little freak-out because her composure had shifted to somewhere between concern and skepticism. 

My mind was racing with possibilities. Someone who did not exist on any system could be an incredible asset for a company whose whole trick was being sneaky. I was also a wild card and a possible sleeper agent sent to sabotage this ship. I could do anything, be anyone. But first, I had to convince the woman before me that I was worth keeping alive. 

Speaking of which, Miranda was still watching me closely, perhaps waiting for me to speak. 

I took a deep breath. I had my objective: convince Miranda that I’m worth keeping on the Normandy. How? Utilise my only bargaining chip: Information, however hazy it may be. This was in no way going to be easy. After all I’m not the best quick thinker, but I’d seen enough Doctor Who to know I just had to avoid saying anything too ‘spoiler-y’.

“I have a proposal for you,” I said.

Miranda quirked an eyebrow, but showed no other sign of stopping me.

“It just so happens that I am in possession of some incredibly sensitive and valuable information regarding, not only your employer, but the imminent reaper threat.”

“That's quite the claim,” Miranda leant forward, the pull at her lips telling me she was humouring me, at least for now. “Assuming you have anything of value, what would you want in return?”

I smiled and shrugged. “I’d like to stay on this ship,” I said.

“And what makes you think I’ll agree to this proposal?”

“Miranda Lawson,” I said, schooling my features as I stared her down, watching the faint flicker of surprise cross her eyes. Encouraged, I ploughed on,  “Cerberus operative. Practically second in command. Your father designed you to be genetically perfect in every way: looks, brains, biotics; you name it, you got it. When you were old enough you rebelled against his ‘perfect’ will and ran, that's when the Illusive Man picked you up to join Cerberus. You love it here, not just because you believe they have a worthy goal, but because they give you a task and don't tell you it's impossible, they give you the chance to excel.”

Miranda is silent for a long moment. Her face a maintaining that signature, unimpressed mask. “That was quite the speech.” She narrowed her eyes slightly, something deep in their depths hardening. If I didn’t think she was terrifying before, I bloody-well did now. “How do you know all that?

“It wasn’t the Shadow Broker if that’s what you’re thinking,” I said. “Either way it doesn’t matter. The point is I know a hell of a lot more about, not only Cerberus, but the enemy on the horizon.”

Miranda’s hard eyes morphed into a suspicious frown. She was at least considering my words, yet still remained unconvinced and I cringed inwardly. I needed to say something concrete that had value to her, and there is only one this Miranda truly cares about. What I said next could have been the end of me, but it got her attention, so it was worth it. I steeled myself before I looking her dead in the eye and playing my trump card, “How’s your sister?”

In a flash Miranda was standing, pistol pointed across the table right between my eyes. Yep, I’d made a mistake. Pass me a pen, I have a death wish to sign.

“What do you know?” Miranda demanded. 

It was too late to back down now. I allowed myself to smirk just a bit, if only to give my lips something else to do then tremble in fear. “That knowledge is keeping me alive, isn’t it?”

Miranda didn’t move an inch, her striking blue eyes interrogating every aspect of my grinning face. After a tense moment, Miranda said, “What do you want?”

I sat back again, folding my hands into my lap. “I want to talk to the person in charge.”

“I am in charge.”

“Nice try.” 

Neither of us so much as flinched.

Finally, Miranda lowered her pistol and turned to leave. Just before the door slid closed behind her, she looked back over her shoulder and sent me a look that screamed,  _ this isn’t over _ .

As soon as the doors shut I let out a shaky breath, clenching my fists tightly to try and stem my shivering. 

_ She almost shot me! _

I closed my eyes and tried my best to quell my panic. I was no doubt under surveillance and any signs that I really wasn’t as together as I pretended to be would certainly spell my downfall.

Miranda is on the Normandy, that means we are somewhere in Mass Effect 2. How early in the story is anyone’s guess at the moment.

Miranda was an obstacle, yes. But the real person I needed to convince was Shepard, and for that I would need a story other than, ‘I’m from an alternate universe and I controlled you in a game’.

Because that would go down swimmingly.


	2. Meeting the Commander

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew the door was open and I had to peel my face off the cool metal of the table.

Through the blur of my waking eyes I saw a woman striding her way into my little holding cell. Behind her I could see Miranda standing in the background, arms crosses and looking more displeased than usual. I sent her a small grin and wiggled my fingers in a wave. She gave an irritated eye roll and stalked out of view the doors were closing soon after.

I turned my attention the the new woman who was now standing across the table, arms folded over her black and white, Cerberus issue fatigues. My eyes shifted from her attire to her face and I froze.

The glowing, red web of scarring that criss-crosses over the ridges of her face. That short, ginger hair. Those striking green eyes. If I had died and gone to heaven upon meeting Miranda, then seeing Shepard was like discovering heaven had unicorns.

I smiled up at her like an idiot, not even caring that I appeared insane. I was never really one to get star struck but this was an exception.

I cannot begin to describe how grateful I am that it’s FemShep. Even though ManShep said and did the same things, I could never relate to his armyman persona. Plus FemShep is nicer to look at. Did I mention her natural red hair and piercing emerald eyes? 

Damn she’s hot.

She is definitely not my Shepard. My Shepards had always looked either too severe, or like a soccer mum, ready with her people mover full of aliens to go talk the next objective out of a tantrum. Even while seated I can tell that this Shepard is taller than me, which puts her at well above average; her fatigues do little to hide her broad shoulders and toned body. What’s with Bioware and filling their worlds with ridiculously beautiful people?

If I were older and gayer I'd go for it.

“Hello,” Shepard said as she sat down. Oh, sweet Jennifer Hale. 

“Hello,” I said, still smiling like a fool.

“Jaime Morgan, is it?” 

“Just Jaime is fine,” I said. “I assume that you’re the one in charge.”

Shepard nodded. “I’m Commander Shepard,” she said.

I let out an internal squeal just from hearing her say it.

“I hear you gave my engineers quite the scare,” she continued.

“Apparently so,” I grinned up at her. “The poor girl shot me!”

Shepard gave an amused smile. After a moment she asked, “Have you eaten?” 

“Now that you mention it, I haven’t.”

Shepard reached into her pocket and pulled out what I assumed to be a ration bar. She passed it to me and I peeled away the wrapping, taking a tentative bite of the chewy substance. It has a strange, meaty flavour that somehow has a citrus aftertaste. Whatever it is, it’s food. After a few large bites it’s gone and the rumbling in my stomach has ceased.

She waited until I was done eating to speak again.

“You're not a very good spy.”

“So I've been told.” 

Shepard leaned forward and appraised me. “Yet a civilian could never make it onto a military grade cruiser without being detected.”

I weighed the options between my cuffed hands. “Is it a bluff?” I said. “A double bluff? Am I a brilliant actor or am I just as clueless as you?”

Shepard smiled a little. “Who knows?” She said. 

There was a pause and I jiggled the cuffs that still encircled my wrists thoughtfully. Shepard noticed and leant over, her omnitool lighting up as she waved it over the metal clasp binding my hands. The cuffs fell away and clattered onto the table top.

“Thank you,” I said with a relieved smile as I rolled out my shoulders and relished in my regained freedom. Shepard nodded in acknowledgement; it seemed that she had decided I wasn’t a threat. She gave me food which, as long as it isn’t drugged, makes her nice. So considering the severity of her scarring, she must be an early Paragon Shepard.

“So,” Shepard said, “my XO tells me you want to stay on the ship despite nobody knowing who you are or where you came from.”

“Yep.” I answered simply.

“And you have information you are willing to trade?”

“That’s right.” I ran a hand through my hair and found the section I usually twist and braid back to be loose. “You took my hair beads,” I said with a frown, fiddling with the crinkled locks that had previously been restrained. 

“And,” Shepard ignored me and pressed on, “Miranda tells me that you supposedly did not get this information from the Shadow Broker.”

I nodded. I could already tell that having to explain the same thing over and over was going to get old really quickly.

“So, what,” Shepard leant forward, raising a brow at my ridiculously bright shirt. “Are you a fortune teller, or something?

I scoffed a laugh. “If you want,” I said. “But my sources are significantly more reliable than a deck of cards or a passing crow.”

Shepard smirked a little but quickly became serious again. She folded her hands atop the table; playtime was over. “How did you get this information?”

Here we go. It was time to lay my web of story. 

“You remember the Prothean beacon back on Eden Prime?” I said.

Shepard tensed and watched me closely. “I'm listening.”

“Truth is, I came into contact with something of a similar nature and experienced a phenomena much like you did,” I said. “It filled my head with images of what was going to happen in the future if we aren’t prepared.”

There! I had her attention now. It seems I had struck the chord I was aiming for because Shepard is looking promisingly skeptical. Being skeptical is better than being nonchalant. 

“You've had contact with Prothean technology?” she asked.

“More or less,” I nodded. After Miranda had left, I had thought long and hard about how I could convince Shepard with little to no evidence aside from my own words. I came to the conclusion of creating an empathetic connection with her through a mutually exclusive experience. Long story short, I liken myself to Shepard in ME1 where no one believed her warnings, Shepard gives me the benefit of the doubt, trusts my word, and I get to stay on the Normandy. “I have knowledge of events to come that could be instrumental to the galaxy’s fight against the Reapers.”

“Like what?” She asked.

This is where it got tricky. I needed to reveal enough to make her believe me, but not enough to make myself sound suspicious or to change established events beyond my known realms of possibility. It didn’t help that I still didn’t know how early in the story I was. 

Miranda spoke to me initially instead of Shepard, so the Commander must have been out on mission with at least Jacob and someone else. Her scarring suggests that it’s before Horizon, but I have no way of knowing who is a part of the crew. At that point she could have Mordin, Garrus, Jack, Zaeed, Katsumi and the pod containing Grunt by now. That’s a whole lot of variables and I’m not smart enough for all that guesswork. I just had to roll the die and hope for a natural twenty.

“How’s Garrus doing?” I asked, and from the way her eyes widen, my gamble paid off.

“I wouldn’t know,” Shepard replied, eyes narrowing. “I haven’t seen him in two years.”

I let out an internal sigh. I had a break, now I just had to take it.

“Go to Omega,” I say.

Shepard cocked an eyebrow. “We’re already docked at Omega.”

Well, damn. Not-so-lucky guess then. “How long was I asleep for?”

Shepard shrugged. “A few hours?”

“Have you met with Aria yet?

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me?” 

“I thought we had already established that I’m not a fortune teller?” I sighed. “For me to help I need to know what’s going on.”

“Sounds like something a fortune teller would say,” Shepard smirked.

“Now you’re just being uncooperative,” I said. “I thought you were on a ‘fate of the galaxy’ mission?”

“You sound just like my XO.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said. “Have you met with Aria yet?”

Shepard watched me for a long moment, considering her words. “Yes,” she eventually said.

“And I trust she was as accommodating as ever?” I asked, smirking at the memory of the Asari.

“As accommodating as a thousand year old mob boss can be.”

I gave a laugh at that. When I calmed down I noticed Shepard watching me expectantly. It was my turn to consider my words.

“Miranda wants you to get the Professor first, right?” I said.

“That’s right.” Shepard nodded slowly.

“If I were you,” I said, “I’d go for the other guy first.”

“Why?”

“It’s a matter of personal interest,” I said, before quickly clarifying, “For you, not for me.”

“How do you mean?” she asked and I smiled.

“It will be a welcome surprise.”

Shepard was silent and I could tell she was thinking. I could almost see her selecting a dialogue option from the wheel in her head and I fight to keep my face neutral at the image.

“You mentioned Garrus before,” Shepard said after a long moment. “Why?”

I gave a soft smile at the mention of everyone’s favourite turian. “Go find Archangel,” I said simply. “I hear he’s a fantastic sniper.”

A spark of realisation settled in her eyes and Shepard stood abruptly. 

“I should go,” she said and I choked down a snort at the classic line.

“Before you do,” I stopped her. “There are a bunch of mercs hired to take him down and you’re most likely going to have to fight through them to get back. Be sure to sabotage what you can while they don’t suspect you.”

Shepard stares at me for a long moment before nodding and turning to stride out the door. 

“Also, watch out for rockets!” I called after her, but the door was already closed. Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to wait until she gets back to negotiate my stay on the Normandy.

Once again I was left alone in that cell with nothing but myself for entertainment. I stood from my chair and stretched my arms above my head hearing the fluid in my spine pop. I gave a sigh of relief and relaxed; now I just had to find something to do until Shepard got back.

I glanced around the metal walls of my little cell, with only the table and chairs as decoration.

Oh well, at least I would have good conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mate, it was hard to get this conversation reasonably believable… Thank you all so much for reading and showing so much interest in the first chapter! If you spot a canonical error in my story send me through a PM or comment so I can fix it. I am currently replaying the series, but I’m still having to do an obscene amount of Googling on every second plot point and setting that I touch on. 
> 
> Otherwise, I’d love to hear what you think of the story so far so don’t forget to leave a review or send PM if just want to chat!  
> Next Chapter: Jaime explores the Normandy.


	3. Checking it Out

Talking to myself had lasted a fabulous ten seconds before I realised there were probably monitoring devices in the room and had stopped. After a few boring minutes more of tapping my fingers and whistling absently, I came to the conclusion that I needed something to do. 

I stood from my chair and went through a few, wobbly yoga poses to try and get rid of the stiffness in my body from sitting for God knows how long. I wandered over to the door and gave the orange, glowing lock an experimental tap. To my immense surprise, it lit up green and the door cycled open revealing the corridor outside. 

That was strange. Surely Shepard would have made sure I couldn’t get out when she left. Mind you, she had left in a hurry to go get Garrus, so maybe she had forgotten. 

No, I corrected myself. This was definitely a trick. The SR2 is a Cerberus vessel and all of the doors should require you to have clearance to get through regardless of them being locked or not. This door opening for me now meant that someone, or something, was letting me pass; probably to see what I would do. No doubt EDI or Miranda were monitoring me right now.

From there I had two options: sit tight and be a good girl, or have a look around the coolest video game ship to hit console since Star Wars? It was definitely a difficult decision, but for this story to be any good, I had to take a couple of risks.

I stuck my head out the door and had a better look around. I was still down on the engineering floor, in the room that I guessed would be Zaeed’s later if he joined the crew.

Checking the corridor one last time, I took a huge, Dick Van Dyke-style step through the door and paused. No alarms went off, and nobody came running to tranquilize me again. I let out the breathe I was holding and started down the corridor towards the opposite door - the one that would house Grunt if he was here.

That lock too opened when I touched it, the door cycling away for me to look inside. Grunt’s pod wasn’t there: just crates.

Well, that was disappointing.

I backed out and headed towards the doors by the elevator.

Gabby and Ken would be in engineering, and as much as I wanted to see the drive core, it was too risky to run into those two again, and the hold where Jack lives is just pipes and mood-lighting, so a ride in the elevator it was. 

Orange cycled to green once more and I stepped inside. Which lead me to another problem: how to stay hidden. Every floor on this boat regularly has people on it except for Shepard’s cabin. After a moment of internal debate, I hit the button for Deck 3 and waited for the lift to rise.

Seconds later the doors pinged open on the Crew Deck. Huh, guess the elevators here are faster than I thought.

I glanced both ways through the door and scuttled out towards the Starboard Observation Deck. I stopped at the edge of the walkway leading into the mess and peaked around. A man I assumed to be Mess Sergeant Gardner was talking to another crew member over in the little kitchen space, but that was all.

I scurried across the open space in what I hoped was an inconspicuous manner and entered the Starboard Obsetvation Deck. Safely inside, door closed behind me, I stepped up to the window and looked outside.

We were still stationed on Omega and good God was it a sight to see. I mean, Bioware had done their best to put as much detail into the textures of the universe as they could, but nothing could compare to the real thing.

It was breathtaking.

A cluster of glowing buildings and refineries extended from the roof and floor of the vast cavern like calcified cave growths. Walkways and scaffolding connected the dirty constructs, and shuttles flitted between them at dangerous speeds. And beyond them, barely visible through the industrial smog: the Omega Asteroid field. Everything was bathed in the orange light of the closest star.

I could feel tears prickling at the edges of my eyes at the glory of it all.

I pressed my hands against the glass and looked down at the streets below.

“This place is insane,” I muttered to myself, unable to stop the awed smile on my face.

“Are you enjoying your little tour?”

Startled, I spun around. 

Freaking Miranda again.

I clutched at my heart and let out a steadying breath. “Don’t do that!”

The operative just quirked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. I could see her pistol purposefully holstered by her side in an unspoken threat.

I looked back out the window and watched what appeared to be a mugging in progress happen in the street below. I winced as the victim was knocked to the ground and the culprit escaped around a corner and out of sight. “I’ve never seen Omega in person before,” I said. “It’s really something.”

“If by ‘something’ you mean lawless cesspool,” Miranda said, walking over to window yet maintaining her distance. “Then yes, it really is something.”

“It’s better than four metal walls,” I chuckled a little and gave a sigh. “So,” I said. “You were watching me, then?”

“Of course,” Miranda said.

I snorted a laugh at her no-fuss reply.

“I fail to see how that was funny,” she said.

“It wasn't,” I replied. “It was just weird to hear you say it so frankly.”

The operative blinked and she said, “You must a very loose grasp of your situation to laugh so freely.” 

My grin slid from my face and I swallowed the spark of fear that lit in my chest. 

“You’re right,” I said, and she was one hundred percent right. I had no idea what I was in for. I mean, I know these people but they didn’t know me. I know their personalities, their stories, their character arcs, and there I was right at the beginning; a stranger in a foreign land. It didn’t help that they were all ten to twenty years older than me (a hundreds if you count Samara).

Miranda saw that her words had had the desired effect and pressed her advantage. “What do you know about my sister?” she asked.

“You don't have to worry,” I said with a soft sigh. Of course this was why she had stayed behind - to interrogate me.

“You certainly made it sound like I had to worry.”

“I needed you to listen,” I said. “Look, I can honestly tell you all I know is that you have a younger sister named Oriana and your lunatic Dad is after her.”

Miranda seemed unimpressed. “And that was revealed to you by a Prothean Beacon?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“It just seems like strange information for an ancient computer to know.”

I gave a noncommittal shrug. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Like what?”

“Inter-dimensional travel?”

Miranda scoffed and looked out at the street below, taking her watchful eye off of me for the first time. I smiled on the inside at the way she brushed off my remark and followed suit. 

“And I'm guessing your mysterious source also told you that Archangel was Shepard’s old crew member, Garrus Vakarian?” the Operative continued.

“Yep,” I said. “You haven't lost anything by it. I mean, all I did was ruin the surprise. Cerberus still technically led Shepard to Garrus so she owes you something.”

“Yet you managed to manipulate the situation to make you the good guy and gain the Commander’s trust,” Miranda concluded.

I shrugged. “A win-win situation.”

It felt weird to just be standing around, looking out a window with a trained killer no more than two metres away. Usually at this time of day I was sitting in the library pretending to study while I waited for my next lecture to begin. Which reminds me...

I cursed under my breath. “Damn it,” I said. “I had a presentation due today.”

Miranda looked at me quizzically. “Presentation?” she asked.

“For uni,” I explained. “My group was counting on me.” I let out a sigh and ran a hand through my hair. 

Miranda frowned. “How old are you?”

I mock-gasped in shock. “Such an impertinent question!” I exclaimed.

Unfortunately, Miranda wasn’t amused. These troubled childhood people sure are a tough crowd.

I deflated out of character and gave a coy smile. “How old do you think I am?”

Miranda thought for a moment; it seemed she was willing to humour me for a few moments. “Well, judging by your looks and that eccentric display, I’d have to say you’re in your early twenties.”

I sucked a breath through my teeth and clicked my tongue in approval. “Close, but no cigar,” I said. “Everyone always thinks I’m older than I am.”

Miranda’s ice blue eyes snapped to me in… was that concern? “You’re a teenager?”

“Not for much longer,” I said, grinning at her surprise. “I turn twenty next month.”

Miranda was silent for a long moment, her eyes flitting over me. My grin faded to confusion as the silence stretched for a long moment. Then it dawned on me: Oriana is nineteen in ME2. I would have to decide what to do with that information later. 

I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Well,” I said. “I guess I’ll head back to my little room.”

Miranda straightened and the shutters dropped behind her eyes again. “Actually,” she said. “While we are on the crew deck, I’d like to examine you closer in the medbay.”

I crinkled my nose. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

Miranda looked mildly amused. “It’s nothing invasive. It will just be a more thorough scan than what an omnitool can do. Just to be sure you don’t have any sleeper augmentations that could pose a problem.”

“Oh, okay.” 

Seemed reasonable enough. Although I remembered Miranda’s penchant for mind control chips and a shiver ran down my spine.

Miranda gestured for me to go first and I walked out of the observation deck and across the dining space to the medbay.

I tapped the orange lock, but it didn’t open. I guess my privileges had been revoked when Miranda had decided her little experiment was over. The operative stepped past me and opened the door, flat out ignoring the greeting Dr. Chakwas offered as she strode over to one of the scanners at the back of the room.

“Hello,” I smiled at the elder doctor.

The doctor smiled in that grandmotherly way of hers. “Hello, I’m the Dr. Chakwas, the Medical Officer for the Normandy,” she said. “And who are you?”

“Oh, sorry,” I said with a sheepish grin and extended my hand. “My name’s Jaime. Lovely to meet you.”

“What are you doing up here?” Dr Chakwas asked. She must have heard I was on board.

“Apparently I’m getting some sort of scan,” I said, bouncing on my toes like an eager child.

Chakwas gave a light laugh and turned her attention to Miranda, watching as the operative checked a data pad by the complex machines at the back of the medbay. “Looks like you are,” she said. 

“Morgan,” Miranda called.

“That's me!” I said perhaps a little too loudly and practically bounded over to where she was waiting.

“Sit,” Miranda commanded and I promptly parked my butt on the edge of the bed. She started pressing buttons on the side of the scanning machine while I sat and watched.

“This is exciting,” I said. “I've never seen anything like this before.”

Miranda glanced up at me from her datapad. “You've never been to a hospital before?” she asked.

“I have,” I corrected. “And I've seen pictures of MRI’s and stuff. But this...” I waved my hand at the rotating scanners. “This is entirely new. I guess that's because it's Cerberus tech”

“Perhaps.” Miranda gestured for me to lie down and stay still so she could start the scan. 

“I'm surprised you didn't do all this when I was knocked out earlier.”

“The Commander thought it best to wait,” Chakwas piped up when Miranda didn't respond.

I was about to say something else but Miranda stabbed a button on her screen and the circular arms lit up and started to rotate around the bunk. I lay as still as I could, but it was getting increasingly difficult as the low whine of the machine was making my nose itch. From the corner of my eye I could see Chakwas had walked over and was watching a nearby screen. Thankfully it was over in less than thirty seconds; the scanner resetting to its original position and me free to sneeze violently.

Miranda had joined the other doctor at the monitor and the pair were muttering to each other. I knew from watching too many TV dramas that it’s never good when doctors start muttering to each other, and seeing as this is the future where they know almost everything about everything, it’s worse. 

I stood up from the bed and crept up behind the two women to catch a glimpse of the monitor. A series of xrays and cut outs were splayed across the screen with one particular image enlarged; a rotating 3D model of me surrounded in what appeared to be some first year film student’s attempt at a pulsing particle effect. It looked strangely familiar.

“I've never seen anything like it before,” said Chakwas The pair hadn’t noticed I was behind them yet.

“Not even when Shepard was hit by the Beacon?” asked Miranda.

Chakwas shook her head. “She had some light radiation burns but they were localised and dissipated almost immediately. It was nothing like this.”

Miranda nodded slowly. “The patterns seem to resemble mass effect particles but it's more like-”

“Radiation?” I interjected. I was getting serious Doctor Who season two flashbacks all of a sudden.

The two doctors looked at me in mild surprise.

“Yes,” said Miranda, recovering first. “It would seem to be residual, and does not appear to be harmful.”

“However,” Chakwas added, “it is of unknown origins, so we are going to have to run a few more tests just to be sure.”

I nodded. This was definitely like Doctor Who. At the end of season two it was revealed that if you travel through the space between worlds you pick up harmless ‘background radiation’. Huh, looks like I somehow fell through the Void and into a parallel world where Mass Effect is real. What are the chances?

But I didn’t tell them that. 

“Just as long as these tests don’t involve anything more than a blood test that should be fine,” I said with what I hoped was a nonchalant smile.

Chakwas gave a laugh. “Not to worry, there won’t be any dissections while I’m on board,” she said.

From the way Miranda was watching me, she was already planning incisions.

A reminder pinged on Miranda’s omnitool and she gave an irritated sigh.

“I have to finish my report,” said Miranda. “Chakwas, if you can do a full medical on Miss Morgan, I will return for further testing later.”

“Of course,” said Chakwas with a nod and set about prepping her things.

Miranda opened her mouth to say something else but EDI popped up in her terminal.

“Shepard is on her way back to the Normandy and is requesting immediate medical aide,” said the AI.

“What happened?” Miranda demanded, alarm edging into her voice.

“It would seem that Archangel was struck by a missile,” EDI said.

Miranda swore and turned to Chakwas, ordering her to prepare for an emergency operation.

“EDI, have a stretcher ready in the shuttle bay when they arrive,” Miranda ordered, striding out towards the elevator.

“Of course, Operative Lawson,” came the disembodied response.

I started after Miranda, jogging to keep up with her long strides. “Is there anything I can do?”

Miranda stepped into the elevator and whirled around, barring my following her further. “Stay here,” she commanded.

The door cycled closed and the lock lit up red. The last thing I heard Miranda say was that she would be in the shuttle bay in two minutes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Notes:   
> I will be updating every Wednesday AEST. Don’t forget to let me know what you like so I can make this my best story yet!  
> Editing Notes: I noticed a minor error back in Chapter 1 where Miranda says they are in the Terminus Systems. It didn’t make sense because Omega is in the Attican Traverse and there are no Terminus System missions until Horizon; disregarding Freedom’s Progress which is before they get the Normandy.


	4. Crew Deck

I sat down in the dining area and waited. 

Not too long ago Shepard and Miranda had stormed past with Garrus atop a floating stretcher; blue blood soaked the gauze covering his face.

I remember in the games Shepard had been pretty worried that he would die and now I knew why. Even having not seen anything up close, I could tell it wasn't pretty. He had taken a missile to the face after all.

“Hang in there, Garrus,” Shepard had said. “I didn't come back from the dead to have you die on me.”

Chakwas met them just outside the elevator and was already sticking needles in the Turian before they had even made it through the medbay doors.

The party had disappeared into the medbay, but I could still see through the glass as Chakwas got straight to it; gloves on guiding complex machines as they descended on the unconscious turian. 

Shepard waited nearby, channeling her concern into frustrated pacing.

Miranda quickly deduced that she would be no help on an alien species and seemed to suggest that Shepard leave and let Chakwas work. Moments later the pair exited the medbay Miranda telling Shepard to change and meet in the conference room in an hour for a debrief. Shepard nodded and started for the elevator when she noticed me sitting wide-eyed at the dining table.

I tried to smile and raised a hand in greeting. Shepard paused, her worry morphing momentarily to surprise.

Her pause gave me a chance to check out her battle gear and, my god, the N7 armour is glorious in person. She looked incredibly imposing, the bulk of the reinforced ablative plating accentuating the strength of her frame and adding and an extra 2 inches to her height; although, the blood smears were more unsettling than awe-inspiring.

Shepard didn’t hang around to chat, shaking her head and heading back to the elevator. She probably just wanted a shower to wash off all that sweat and blood.

On the other hand, Miranda straight up strode across the hall to her office, probably dying to finish that paperwork that had been so rudely interrupted.

“Looks like my medical will have to wait then,” I called as she walked by.

Miranda barely spared me a glance. “Looks like it.”

“Shall I return to my room, or stay here?”I half stood to follow her, but no response came so I took that as a  _ do as you please, I don’t care right now _ .

I sat back down at the table and started thinking out my next move. At least I would have if I was alone on the crew deck.

“Who’re you?”

I'd forgotten about Mess Sergeant Gardner.

“I'm the stowaway,” I said back, twisting in my chair to look at the older man.

“Stowaway got a name?” he said.

“Jaime.”

Gardner grunted and went back to wiping his counter.

“Any particular reason you’re still on board?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Comedic relief?”

Gardner scoffed in that gruff way of his and started pulling out trays from beneath the counter.

I stood from my chair and wandered over. The trays were full of vegetables and other assorted ingredients, including some I didn’t recognise. Gardner had procured a knife and a potato peeler and had started on a pile of what appeared to be green carrots.

“Mind if I make myself useful?” I said, holding out a hand for a utensil.

Gardner eyed me for a moment. “You any good with a knife?” he asked.

“I used to help my mum all the time,” I said. “And I like to be useful.”

“Well, in that case you can start by peeling these potatoes,” Gardner dumped a large tray full of the bulbous roots on the counter in front of me and set about chopping his green carrots.

I spoke with the Mess Sergeant for quite a while about how food on board the Normandy worked. I would have thought that machines or 3D printers just glooped ingredients together and spat out ready made meals for the crew with minimum effort from the chef, but it was actually a bit more traditional. Meals were cooked enmass then stored in a way similar to that fancy, french vacuum-packing thing until they were eaten. When supplies ran low, ingredients were purchased and meal prep took place right there on the Normandy.

“That’s not standard on other ships though, right?” I asked, now chopping my pile of peeled potatoes into bite-sized chunks. “I can’t imagine that this is very cost effective.”

“It isn’t,“ Gardner nodded. “But this is a Cerberus vessel after all. It's not five star, but it's better than anything the alliance has to offer that's for sure.”

I suppose that’s true. Cerberus does seem like the kind of organisation to give their employees the best. Though I did get a little sceptical of the Mess Sergeant’s cooking ability when he began throwing strange herbs hap-hazardly into the large stew pot we were working on.

“What’s that stuff?” I asked when he started shovelling in a bright orange spice that smelt suspiciously like turmeric and cinnamon.

“Something to add a bit of flavour,” he said. “Admittedly it’s not the nicest flavour, but it beats a tasteless stew.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I left him to it.

Gardner and I had just finished packing away the food and utensils when the medbay doors opened and Garrus Vakarian strolled out.

He had glanced toward me on his way to the conference room, all 6 plus feet of him with bandaged mandibles. His eyes lingered, assessing my decidedly not Cerberus appearance with curiosity before disappearing around the corner.

I'd barely had time to take in his appearance, but he somehow seemed so much more  _ alien _ than I had expected.

Gardner sent me a look and said, “Just wait ‘til you meet the Enkindler.”

I scrunched my nose at the memory of those seedy magazines you can buy in game and shook my head. “I think I'll start slow for now.”

Not much later, when Gardner and I were packaging the meals to be frozen, Miranda walked out of her office. She heard us talking and paused.

“Making yourself at home, I see,” she said.

“Don't worry, I haven't attempted to poison the crew,” I said. “Gardner’s doing just fine on that front.”

The Mess Sergeant grumbled, swatting at me with a dishcloth. I gave a laugh and dodged away to other side of the counter.

“Don't worry, Operative Lawson,” said Gardner. “I've been keeping an eye on her.”

Miranda gave a curt nod and turned on her heel, continuing on her way.

When she was out of earshot I smirked at Gardner as I pitched a thumb in the direction of the retreating Operative. “We are going to be best friends,” I said.

Now it was Gardner’s turn to laugh. “Good luck with that.”

Despite my own smiling exterior, I had to agree. Everything on this ship was way out of my depth. There were no dialogue options to help me find the right words to say, and no paragon interrupts for me to hit so I did the right thing. It was up to me, the girl with no street-smarts, to come up with an answer to an impossible equation.

Thanks to my help, kitchen duties were finished earlier than usual. Gardner finally put away his dishcloth and stretched out his back with a groan.

“Thank you for your help, stowaway,” he said. “It’s rare for me to get a reasonable amount of down time.”

“Anytime,” I said with my trademark grin.

“Careful what your say. I might take you up on that.” Gardner barked a dry laugh as I cringed and started for the crew quarters. “I’m going to go read,” he said. “You can do whatever, I don’t care.”

Huh, okay then. So much for keeping an eye on me.

I walked over to the elevator and was pleasantly surprised to find I could activate the call button. A few moments later the button lit up green and the door cycled open revealing the towering alien form of the Archangel, Garrus Vakarian.

Bloody hell. I was not mentally prepared for this.

“H-Hello,” I stuttered out. Idiot. What the hell was that?

“Hello,” came the reply. It sounded garbled, like he was underwater; maybe because I didn’t have a translator? Garrus (actual Garrus!) watched me with bird-like interest. I could see flecks of blue blood in his news scars, the feather like plates cracked and barely holding together. His sunken, yellow eyes flitted over me before he stepped past and headed for the gun battery. My body finally started moving and I awkwardly stumbled away from the elevator and watched him walk along the gangway between the sleep pods.

God, this whole experience has me like a starstruck groupie.

Just as he got to the doors, Garrus looked over his shoulder and caught me staring and… was that a wink? I do not remember Garrus being that cheeky. I’m not sure if he blinked and I perceived it as a wink because I could only see half of his face, or if it was an actual wink. It did not help that I had romanced him in my last run through of the series.

I stepped back and got into the elevator. I stared blankly at the number panel and tried to make my brain form a cohesive thought. I briefly considered just going back to my room so I didn’t have any more chances to run into other people. I’m not sure my heart could take another run in like that.

Just as I was about to hit the button for engineering, the CIC button lit up at the elevator began to move. I suppressed a groan and let it happen; big ship, lots of busy people, only one elevator. My hesitation had cost me my chance at solitude.

Moments later, the doors opened and I got my first glimpse of the combat centre and the galaxy map. Kelly Chambers was over at her computer and in the distance I could just make out the back of Joker’s baseball cap in the bridge, but more immediately, Shepard was in front of me, waiting for me to get out of the elevator.

After a moment of blank staring, she raised a brow andasked, “You getting out?”

I blinked at her. “Ah, no. I was slow to hit the Engineering button so now I’m here.”

Shepard gave a chuckle. “That happens more often than you think,” she said. She stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the Crew Deck. The doors slid closed once more and I promised myself that I’d check out the CIC more thoroughly later; when all the culture shock died down a bit.

“When are you going to get the Professor?” I asked after a moment. It was still so surreal seeing her in person: doing normal people things like ride elevators. Mind you, you spend a tonne of time in the games watching Shepard ride elevators, so maybe it wasn’t that surreal. You get the idea.

Shepard sent me a sidewards glance. “We plan to head out in a few hours.”

That was quick. “That’s quick,” I said.

“Thanks to your heads up about the mercs after Garrus, that mission went faster than expected,” Shepard explained. She turned to me fully and watched me closely. “Got anything on this next guy?”

Well that was unexpected to say the least; shepard was already asking me for intel on missions. I had expected this to happen eventually, but not before I had properly established my character in this world. Was she testing me?

The doors opened on the Crew Deck and I thought for a moment. “Keep an eye out for looters and be prepared to deal with Krogan and Vorcha,” I said.

“That’s it?”

I shrugged. I remember flamethrowers and activating ventilation systems, but it was a straightforward mission and nothing could really be changed or tackled differently.

“Nothing stands out for this one,” I said as I hit the Engineering button.

Shepard’s hand shot out and stopped the door. “You warned me about missiles,” she said.

She heard me? “I did?” I said.

Shepard leant in closer. “How did you know?”

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

I almost told her. Almost. I clenched my teeth and said nothing. Shepard just stood there, holding the door and staring me down. My breathing was becoming erratic and I looked away. Finally, the Commander stepped away and let go out the door.

I glanced back up at her and she maintained eye contact as the doors slid closed.

What the hell was that?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Notes: In honour of my birthday today you can have this chapter early! (It’s back to Wednesday’s next week though!)
> 
> In other news, I’m currently interning at a marketing company, and every time I write something for them I ask myself, “How many lies can I get away with today?”


	5. Joining

I went back to my little room and found it had been refurbished. One of the four walls was gone revealing a small storage space piled with crates and a machine I guessed to be a trash compactor. A small bunk had been moved in against the wall. It was all starting to look a bit more familiar.

I walked over to the bunk and flopped down onto my back.

All this culture shock was incredibly exhausting. I pulled off my boots and tucked my socks into the toes.

I shut my eyes but found my mind racing with everything that had happened that day. Shepard, Miranda, Garrus, Garrus again…

It was flipping exhausting, but I just couldn't sit still.

“Hey EDI?” I called to my empty room.

“Yes, Miss Morgan?” Came the reply.

“No need to be so formal, EDI,” I said, standing and pacing to check out the crates in the corner. “Just Jaime will do.”

“Of course, Jaime.”

I hoisted myself up onto the edge of a crate. “I'm surprised you're allowed to talk to me.”

“I have not been given a directive to prevent my conversing with you,” she said. “Was there something you needed?”

“Not really. I'm just looking for a chat.”

“Then might I suggest Yeoman Chambers?"

“I'm not looking for a psychological assessment, EDI,” I said tiredly. “Humans just like to chat sometimes. Especially when they don't want to think about difficult things.”

A moment of silence passed and I figured that she was computing an answer. “I'm afraid I cannot offer assistance in this matter,” she said.

I sighed. “Yeah, okay. Thanks anyway, EDI.”

Well that was a short-lived distraction. Now I was stuck idling about like an NPC.

I was yet to directly interfere with anything yet, and considering my lack of combat training it was unlikely Shepard was going to let me out on a mission anytime soon. I guess that just meant I had to break some rules. But when? Nothing super important happened in the story until Horizon.

Perhaps I would be allowed out when we went to the citadel?

But before any of that, I needed a shower, and I needed new clothes. I loved my tie-dyed camp shirt and worn jeans, but I was 200 years behind the times and stood out like a prostitute in a nunnery. 

“Excuse me, Jaime,” EDI’s voice rang through my little room. “Your presence is requested in the conference room.”

“By who?” I asked sitting up on my bunk.

“The Illusive Man wishes to speak with you.”

Wait, what?

“Yeoman Chambers is waiting at the elevator to show you the way.”

“Now?” I asked. This was wholly unexpected and entirely unwanted.

“Now.” EDI confirmed.

I guess my NPC days had been put on hold. I stood up from the crate and shuffled my way over to the door.

Just as EDI had said, Kelly was standing outside the elevator: all red hair and too much eye-liner.

Kelly looked up at the sound of my door opening and gave a friendly smile.

“Ready to go?” she asked when I got a bit closer.

“As I'll ever be.”

“Are you going to get your shoes?” Kelly asked with a slight frown.

I looked down at my bare feet and wriggled my toes.

“Nah,” I said. “It’s not like I’m going to stand on anything sharp.”

“I suppose not.” Kelly gave a light laugh and called the elevator.

I smiled back with marginally less enthusiasm. There are two kinds of people I naturally distrust: politicians and psychologists. Unfortunately for Kelly, she falls into the second category.

I don’t have anything against her personally, she just somehow feels untrustworthy. Like she's analysing my every word and reporting it to Tim; which she probably was.

Thinking about it now, she reminds me of a primary school teacher. An overly sincere primary school teacher. A primary school teacher who was likely into horoscopes and pole danced by night. That series of contradictions makes me just a bit uncomfortable.

Kelly’s nice. I'm probably just overthinking it.

We stepped into the elevator and the Yeoman hit the button for the CIC.

“So I hear that you’re from Earth?” Kelly asked.

“Sure am.”

“Australasia?” 

I nodded in reply and Kelly’s eyes lit up.

“Wow!” She said. “So what brings you out this far?”

“Circumstance.” I said. I internally apologised to Kelly. I was being deliberately short with her and she didn't deserve it.

Kelly took my reluctance to chat in stride and gave a nod as the doors pinged open to the CIC. We stepped out of the elevator and through to the conference room. Kelly stopped at the door.

“The comm link is just beyond this door,” she said. “Just step into the circle and the system will connect.”

I nodded. “Thanks for the escort.”

“No problem. My station is just out through these doors if you need me.”

I gave her an appreciative smile and stepped into the conference room. As I approached the table it lowered into the floor becoming the base for the comm relay. I stepped onto the platform and the room went dark, and a blue scan grid went from roof to floor.

A few seconds later the darkness fell away and Chronos Station flickered into existence around me.

Ol’ mate Illusive Man was sitting right where he was supposed to be: puffing away on his cigarette, glass of space bourbon in hand.

“Jaime Morgan,” he said.

“Illusive Man.” I nodded back.

“Is that your real name?”

“The Illusive Man certainly isn't yours.”

He took a puff of his cigarette. “No, it is not.”

I crinkled my nose at his smoking, not that I could smell it through the comm link. “I hope that’s herbal,” I said. “Smoking kills, you know.”

He took another, more poignant drag and watched me. He was staring  _ through _ me with those unblinking, cybernetic eyes, waiting. I squashed down my apprehension and sighed, ruffling a hand through my hair.

“What did you want to talk about?” I asked. “I've already been through this with Shepard and Miranda. Surely you read the reports?”

“I did,” he said. “And I had to see for myself the peculiar girl that materialised in the cargo bay.”

“Well, you've seen me,” I said with a shrug. This was going somewhere, but where? “Now what?” I asked.

He took another puff of his cigarette. “I hear you want to stay on the Normandy.”

“That's right.”

“What’s your motivation?”

“I want Shepard to succeed.”

“So do I.”

“Well whadya know,” I said semi-sarcastically. “We're on the same side, you and I.”

He took another, long drag and flicked away the ash. “Are you going to be a problem?”

I raised a brow. “And how do you mean by that?”

He swirled his drink. “Operative Lawson tells me that you are an undisciplined, idealistic student who seems to be disillusioned to the world of adults.”

Ouch, Miranda. “That's… a fair assessment.”

“Yet you seem to possess knowledge far beyond your means.”

“I know it's hard to wrap your head around, but you'll get there.” 

“So, what do I do with you.”

“Let me stay and help on the Normandy,” I said. “I have no name or identity and I'm young. You can make me into who ever you like.”

“That means nothing unless you can produce something to convince me otherwise,” he said. “I don't have the time from some kid who's out of her depth.”

I stopped. Miranda had obviously told him I knew things I shouldn't, now here he was, the man himself, playing mind games.

The Illusive Man sighed and shifted his glass to his other hand. “I think we're done,” he said, reaching for the disconnect button. “I'll have you dropped at a no-name colony out in the Terminus Systems.”

A chill of panic curled up my spine. I hadn't wanted to tell the Illusive Man anything just in case he got me dissected, but at this rate I'd be kicked off the Normandy and it wouldn't matter. “Wait, Mr Harper,” I said forcefully. He stopped, cybernetic eyes snapping to me.

“How do you know that name?”

“I can't tell you,” I said. “But I can tell you that I want Shepard to succeed with this mission just as much as you and I have the know-how to make it happen.”

The Illusive Man considered me carefully; his finger hovering over the disconnect. “How can I be sure you're not working for the enemy?”

I gave an incredulous shrug. “I'm on your ship under your surveillance. You can order Miranda to blow me out an airlock at anytime. Hell, I've already been told multiple times that I'm a terrible spy.”

“This is doing little to convince me.”

“I'm not looking to convince you,” I said. “I'm just looking for a chance.”

He sat back and flicked his cigarette. “Very well,” he said and I practically melted with relief. “But remember, you work for Cerberus now. You go where I say, do what I tell you to do.”

I nodded. Jaw clenched tightly to stop myself saying anything to screw this up.

“Goodbye, Miss Morgan.”

He hit the disconnect button and Chronos Station fizzled out of view and was replaced by the Normandy conference room.

I slumped down into an exhausted crouch. My hands were trembling; this had been  _ way _ too much for one day. Who knew just talking to an egotistical mob boss could be so terrifying? How the hell do protagonists do all this? I could feel a headache coming on as I rubbed at my face. I ran my hands through my hair, tugging at the knots. Hair brush got added to my list alongside shower and new clothes.

Once the residual adrenaline shakes died down, I stood back up, pleasantly surprised that my knees didn't buckle. I rubbed a hand over my face and stepped out of the conference room only to find Miranda waiting instead of Kelly.

“Hey,” I said snapping to a more personable state and throwing her double finger guns. “Looks like we are colleagues now.”

Miranda rolled her eyes and walked away. I jogged after her and we walked together in the direction of the armoury.

“You seem displeased,” I said with barely suppressed amusement.

“I already have to watch the Commander and now I have to babysit you,” Miranda said. “You have effectively doubled my workload.”

“It’s good to be busy.”

Miranda scoffed.

“But I suppose there is such a thing as too busy,” I amended.  _ For you and me both _ , I added to myself. 

“So where are we going?” I asked.

“Seeing as you now work for Cerberus, you need a new omnitool and basic operative training.”

“Like combat and infiltration?”

“You will be trained in how to defend yourself and use a firearm,” Miranda confirmed. “More advanced training depends on your aptitude.”

“Alright. Sounds fun.”

“It’ll be fun, alright.” From the way she said that I knew it wasn’t going to be fun.

Jacob Taylor was standing at his usual bench in the armory. He turned and gave us a nod when we entered.

“I just got the message,” said Jacob to Miranda. He turned his gaze to me and nodded again. “So I hear you’re joining our crew?

“That’s the long and short of it.”

“What happened to your shoes?” he said with a frown at my bare feet.

“I left them behind.”

“Right.”

Jacob blinked away the awkward moment and walked over to a locker on the far wall, pulling out a set of Cerberus slacks, a small wet pack and a thin metal band.

“Your uniform and new omnitool,” he said, handling me the items.

I shifted the uniform and pack under my arm and looked over the omnitool. 

It was a slim band of smooth metal with no defining features other than a small Cerberus stamp on the inside. It didn't appear to have a clasp and after a few helpless moments of turning it over and over in my hands, I looked to Miranda for assistance.

She gave a disbelieving shake of her head and stepped over, holding out her hand for the device. She pressed her thumb to the surface of the device and it popped open with no resistance.

“How…?” I took it from her and wound it around my wrist, the clasp connecting magnetically. Immediately the familiar orange interface sprang to life around my arm, overwhelming me walls of text and keyboards. I lowered my arm and the interface disappeared.

“You'll need to set the release to your own thumbprint,” she said, reaching into the locker and retrieving a slim datapad. Passing it to me she said, “This will tell you all you need to know about operating your omnitool.”

“Thank you,” I said, visibly relieved. I considered asking how to turn on the datapad, but resolved that I'd figure it out later.

“You start training tomorrow,” said Miranda. “You can begin with physical conditioning.”

I could see the unspoken ‘God know you need it’ in her disapproving gaze. Wait… exercise?

“Exercise?!” I exclaimed with despair.

“Exercise and combat training,” Jacob elaborated. “Do you have any prior experience?”

“Does under 14’s netball count?”

Miranda and Jacob shared a glance, their answer hanging in the air.

“Anyway,” said Jacob, breaking the moment. “Before all that, you need to get orientated with the ship, so be ready in the CIC by 0800.”

“Wait, who will be training me?” I asked, looking between the pair and silently praying that it wasn't Miranda. I had a feeling she would annihilate me with no regrets.

“I will,” said Jacob. Praise Jesus, God on high. 

“Alrighty,” I said, the day’s exhaustion coming back full force. “If that's all I’d like to have a nap before dinner.”

Miranda looked a touch exasperated but Jacob was far more accommodating.

“Sure,” he said. “You've had a big couple of days. Get some rest and be ready at 0800 for orientation.”

“In the CIC?”

“In the CIC.”

I gave him a thumbs up and, clutching my new kit to my chest, padded out to the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to tell me what you think! I thrive off of your feedback.


	6. Training

I'm sorry this is late, all. I've had a crazy head cold lately. It feels like I've been wearing a brick as a hat...

Why I had agreed to an orientation session was beyond me. Last night I had crashed so fast I hadn't even had a chance to look over my omnitool properly. The getting up early part hadn't been too bad seeing as I'd always been a morning person, but essentially Cerberus orientation had been just the worst. It was exactly what you’d expect from an orientation session: lots of talking about rules and regulations complete with point-by-point slideshow.  
I spent the whole health and safety lecture tapping my foot and singing Christmas carols in my head to stop from going crazy. Christmas carols.  
To make matters worse, it wasn’t even Jacob doing the presentation. It wasn’t even delivered by someone interesting; just some poor NPC pulled from the CIC because all the main characters were busy.  
It can't have been much longer than half an hour, but it felt like an absolute lifetime. We had covered all of the main areas of the ship that you see in the game as well as a tonne of health and safety stuff that no one cares about but you are required to know if you ever want to apply for worker’s comp. It was boring as hell so I’ll save you the details.  
At the end of it all I was handed a datapad and told to read it as soon as possible.  
“That's your Cerberus contract,” said the operative. “Read it carefully. If you have any questions or concerns, I'll be happy to discuss them.”  
I gave him a nod and scrolled through the text. It looked just like the Apple terms and conditions, but something told me that I actually had to read these.  
“Remember to report to the medbay after this for your check up,” said the rep as he made his way to the door. It seemed he was just as eager to get it over with as I was.  
I stood from the table and followed him out to the CIC. I read through the first page of the contract as I rode the elevator down to the Crew Deck where Chakwas was waiting to give me that check up.  
The Medway door swooshed open and I knocked on the door frame.  
“Hello.”  
“Ah,” Dr Chakwas swivelled in her chair away from her terminal. “Miss Morgan. How are you feeling this morning? You look a little tired.”  
“I’m quite alright, thank you Doctor,” I replied with a smile. “Just took a bit to get to sleep. It's a bit too quiet around here.”  
“I agree. Though you do get used to it eventually.” Chakwas smile back and there was a pause.  
“I was told to come down here for a full medical,” I said after a moment.  
“That you were.” Chakwas stood and gestured to a nearby stretcher. “Take a seat.”  
Chakwas got right down to it, getting me to sit through a series of scans and more traditional doctor things, like… Actually, it was just lots of scans. She didn’t even take my temperature or use a stethoscope.  
Half a dozen tests later and Chakwas knew more about me than I did. She was reading through data back at her terminal while I sat on the edge of a bunk.  
“What’s the prognosis?” I asked, standing and walking closer to her desk.  
Chakwas glanced up at me with a small smile. “You appear to be in good health -if a little unfit- with a mild neuroma in your foot that I can fix right now if you like?”  
Huh, I didn't think I was that unfit. The foot thing though, I knew about. When I walk too much it hurts like the dickens, so I don’t do a lot of walking. Must be why I’m unfit...  
“That’d be fantastic!” I said. “How?”  
“A simple anti-inflammatory injection and some rest will have you right as rain.”  
I winced at the mention of needles. “Do I get a lollipop?”  
Chakwas laughed and I cracked a weak smile. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out of lollipops,” she said. “But I’ll be sure to put in a requisition order for you.”  
...  
I hobbled out of the medbay with strict instructions not to aggravate my foot. Still, that didn’t mean I got out of training with Normandy nice-guy, Jacob. I rode the elevator down to engineering and dropped off my datapad before heading to the cargo bay.  
The bay had changed since I was first in here getting tasered. A section of the had been converted into a training grounds of sorts. A number of the crates had been pushed aside to create a large, clear space with targets stood at various intervals down the long strip.  
Jacob stood by one of the walls where he had set up a little weapons bench.  
As I got closer, he looked up from whatever he was working on. Seeing my hobbling, he asked, “What’s wrong with you?”  
“Chakwas jabbed me,” I pouted back.  
“Where?”  
“In the arm.”  
Jacob gave a little scoff. “And you’re limping?”  
“I feel the pain throughout my very being.”  
“Right.” Jacob turned back to his weapons bench. “Chakwas just messaged through that you’re not to run, so that cancels out that physical conditioning I had lined up-”  
I fist pumped on the inside.  
“-But I can still train you in other basic areas,” Jacob continued with a gesture to his table of guns. “Such as firearms.”  
I watched and listened as he went through and explained gun handling procedure and everything I needed to know not to shoot myself in the foot.  
“In your case, a gun is a weapon of self-defence,” Jacob said. “So don’t go brandishing it around or pointing it at anybody who isn’t a threat.”  
I nodded seriously. “Duly noted.”  
Jacob gave a thoughtful sigh. “Honestly, I don’t know why The Illusive man is letting you do this.”  
I cringed at his tone. “I get that you don't trust me.”  
Jacob snuffed a laugh. “You got that right.”  
“I guess you’re just going to have to give me the benefit of the doubt.”  
He eyed me cautiously. “For now.”  
Jacob gave an audible exhale through his nose before turning to address me fully.  
“Have you ever used a firearm before?” he asked.  
I gave a shrug. “Dad took me down to a shooting range once.”  
“Do you know what you fired?”  
“Guns.” Jacob gave a compliant smile.  
“What kind of guns?”  
“A variety of pistols, a rifle or two, and a long barrel shotgun,” I said. “But that was quite a few years ago.”  
“Alright.” Jacob walked over to the nearby weapons bench and picked up a small hand gun.  
“I don't recognise that one,” I muttered with a frown at the weapon.  
Jacob held the weapon aloft for me to see. “It's a small caliber, semi-automatic pistol designed for unarmoured civilian suppression.”  
I blinked at him to signify my complete lack of understanding.  
“It fires smaller, round bullets that squash on impact instead of penetrate. It’s only designed to stun, not pierce flesh or combat armour, so that makes it perfect for training purposes.”  
“I see.” I nodded, this time with understanding. “It's like a glorified pea-shooter.”  
“Something like that.”  
He stepped up to me and handed me the gun. It was lighter than I thought it would be; heavier than an orange, yet lighter than a good-sized book. It looked just like a standard 21st century handgun, like the kind you see in movies, except the barrel was a little slimmer and more square. The whole piece was painted in those signature Mass Effect greys and blues.  
“Are you right or left handed?” asked Jacob, hefting a similar pistol of his own.  
“Right.”  
“Okay. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. Hold the grip in your right hand with your index finger extended along the gun above the trigger.” As Jacob spoke, he demonstrated the actions facing down the range towards the targets. “Your left hand cups the bottom of the grip and acts as stabilisation.”  
I nodded my understanding as I watched him line up his shot.  
“Line up the groove sights on top of the gun, relax your shoulders, and, when you’re ready, gently squeeze the trigger.”  
I flinched away from the noise -not as loud as I thought it would be, but still jarring- as he fired three shots, each of them planting firmly in the centre of a target about ten metres away.  
“Have a go,” said Jacob. He stepped away and I took his place in from of the targets.  
I lifted the gun in my hands, testing the weight and the way the grip settled in my palm. I took a deep breath and levelled the gun.  
“Widen your feet,” Jacob instructed. He was standing just off to the side: back ramrod straight with his hands clasped firmly behind his back.  
I inched my feet apart to shoulder width, looked down the sights at the ten metre target. I squeezed the trigger slowly.  
“It hasn’t even fired yet and you’re flinching.”  
“Shut u-!” I gave a yelp of surprise as the gun went off, bucking violently in my hand.  
There was a moment of shocked silence from both of us.  
“Just be glad the walls around here are reinforced against gunfire.”  
“Where did that go?” I said, my shoulders still clenched up by my ears.  
“There.” Jacob pointed off to the side of the target. “About six feet up and to the left.”  
I lowered the gun and squinted to where he was pointing.  
There. A small, black scorch mark.  
That was a really bad shot.  
“Good thing we aren't using live rounds otherwise that would have made a dint.”  
I took a deep, steadying breath. “That's a lot of kick for not-live rounds,” I said.  
“Of course. The gun still puts out the same amount of propulsion, the bullets just don't penetrate.” Jacob walked over and lifted my hands so the gun was again pointing down the range.  
“Again,” he said.  
I took a deep breath through my nose and looked down the sights. I’m ready for the recoil this time. I still jumped when the gun bucked in my hands but it was more manageable than before.  
“Better.” Jacob sent me a nod. “This time, keep your eyes open when you fire.”  
I threw a mock smile at him over my shoulder and he nodded at the target. I peered down the range and found the target untouched, my bullet having struck just up to the left again.  
The next shot actually hit the target in the upper left corner, still nowhere near the actually rings.  
I fired until the heat sink popped and Jacob called a cease fire.  
I hadn't gotten much better. Most of my shots had gone wide with one or two scraping the ring of the target. All of my shots were wide to the left by the way.  
“Try to relax your shoulders,” Jacob suggested, passing me a clip and showing me how to replace the old one. “And keep both eyes open when looking at the target.”  
I emptied that clip and another two over the next ten minutes. By the end, despite Jacob’s tips, my arms hurt and I was showing little to no improvement whatsoever.  
“How about you try standing side on to the target with only your right arm extended,” said Jacob, walking over. He demonstrated the posture and I mimicked him, lining up the sights and squeezing the trigger.  
The recoil was worse without my left hand for support and my shot went even wider than before. This time to the right instead of the left.  
I grunted in frustration and tried again. Missed.  
“Bloody hell.”  
Jacob chuckled softly and I looked over at him, surprised.  
“What are you laughing at?” I grumbled at him.  
“You’ll get the hang of it,” he said, his arms crossed over his chest as he leant against the weapons bench.  
I sighed. “Maybe.”  
This flipping sucks, was the only thing I could think at the time. So much for helping Shepard save the galaxy. If I couldn’t shoot straight then I couldn’t go on missions and provide handy tactical advice and sneaky dialogue options.  
“Let’s move on,” Jacob said, beckoning me over to the bench. “You have to learn more than just how to shoot.  
We were going through cleaning and maintaining various pistols -some I recognised from the games, some I didn’t- when the elevator doors pinged open.  
Shepard stepped into the cargo bay and wandered over to where Jacob and I were dismantling guns.  
Seeing Shepard, Jacob snapped to attention, throwing up a salute. “Commander.”  
Shepard nodded at him. “At ease, Jacob.”  
Jacob dropped his salute and relaxed with his hands behind his back.  
“Everything all right down here?” She asked him.  
Jacob glanced my way before addressing Shepard. “As well as could be hoped, ma'am.”  
Shepard raised a brow and turned to me.  
“So The Illusive Man has recruited you to my crew,” said Shepard. Something in her tone sounded off, like she felt slighted.  
I gave an apologetic smile and shrugged. “Hey,” I said. “At least you didn't have to fight through hordes of goons to get me.”  
Shepard gave a dry laugh. “I suppose not.” She turned to Jacob and asked, “Do you mind if I talk to the recruit, Jacob?”  
“No problem.” Jacob nodded. “I’ll pack this up and head back to my station.” And to me, “Meet me in the armoury when your done.”  
I nodded and Shepard gestured for me to follow. I put down the parts I had been working on and toddled after the Commander. I waved at Jacob and he snapped a salute as we stepped into the elevator.  
“How was orientation?” Shepard asked me.  
I stifled a groan sent her a look. “You should be glad you didn’t have to go through any of it.”  
“How do you know I didn’t?”  
“You’re still showing signs of life.”  
Shepard crossed her arms and raised a brow. “It can’t have been that bad.”  
“I’ve had some pretty boring lecturers, but that set a new standard.”  
Shepard chuckled as we stepped out onto the engineering floor. “And your other training?”  
“With the shooty-shooty bang-bangs?”  
Shepard stopped in her tracks and blinked at me. “The what?”  
“The shooty-shooty… The guns.”  
“I’ve never heard someone call a gun something so-” Shepard squinted in thought, scrunching her nose with the effort. “-cute.”  
“Don’t dis on my di-onomatopoeic descriptors,” I said, holding up a silencing finger with as much mock-sass as I could muster.  
“Okay, then.” Shepard took a breath and reset her Commander face.  
Shepard led the way to my room and let herself in. I followed closely behind and sat down on my bunk, leaving the Commander to lean against a nearby crate.  
There was a moment of silence as she glanced around my little room, taking in my lack of belongings and the trash compactor in the corner.  
After a bit too much of an extended silence, I asked, “How was fetching Mordin?”  
Shepard looked over at me like she had been waiting for the question. “Just like you said, vorcha and krogan.”  
“Well, it was Omega,” I said. “Not a whole lot else to expect.”  
“I don’t know about that.” Shepard crossed her arms and watched me from her leaning crate.  
I struggled not to squirm under her gaze and shook away my unease. “So, what did you want to talk about?”  
“Nothing in particular,” Shepard said, standing and walking over to my bunk where I sat. “Just letting you know that we will be heading to the Citadel in a few days.”  
I could practically feel my eyes glowing with an embarrassing amount of excitement. “Really?”  
Shepard nodded. “I’m hoping to pick up a few more dossiers on the way.”  
The Citadel! Christmas had come early. I looked back at the Commander and sensed there was a question she wanted to ask in all this, but she wasn’t which is not very Shepard-y. “I still don’t see what this has to do with me,” I said.  
Shepard seemed to hesitate, I could see her weighing the options behind her eyes. “Who do you think I should pick up first?”  
My eyebrows practically shot off my face and lodged in the ceiling. “What makes you think I-”  
“Are you saying you don’t?” Shepard interrupted.  
She got me there. We have already established I’m a terrible liar, right?  
“You got me there,” I said.  
“So?”  
The Warlord mission got you Grunt, but he’s stuck in a pod for I can’t remember how long. Jack was more immediately useful as a squad member, but she’s incredibly abrasive and living on the same deck as her would mean a high chance of exposure. Although, If she gets on the ship and hanging out with Shepard sooner, she might calm down sooner…  
“Tough choice,” I said. “I’d go for the Convict. She has sick tatts.”  
Shepard raised a brow, and I threw her a thumbs up. After a moment of consideration, she gave a nod. However, before she could ask anything else of me, EDI popped up, telling her she was needed in the CIC.  
“I should go,” she said.  
“I’ll see you around then,” I said with a wave.  
Shepard made to leave, but stopped suddenly in the doorway.  
“Ah.” She reached into her pants pocket and withdrew a closed fist. Walking back over to me, she held out her hand. “Here.”  
Confused, I held out my hand for Shepard to drop half a dozen little pieces of metal into my palm.  
“My hair beads!” The little rings of decorative silver settled into my palm and warmed my heart with their familiarity. I closed my fingers over the cool metal and beamed up at Shepard. “Thank you,” I said earnestly, looking up into her fantastic green eyes.  
She offered a small smile before striding out the door and up to the CIC.

Author note: My ears are still blocked and it’s just the worst.  
Next week is final assessment week at uni so I might have to delay that chap until the week after again. Sorry all!  
Shepard: I’ve never heard someone call a gun something so... cute.  
Me: You’re cute.  
Shepard: What?  
Me: What?  
Also, hooray for 60 followers! (On just 5 chapters? That’s ridiculous!)  
Don't forget to tell me what you think!


	7. Normandy Nice-Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a tonne for sticking with me on this, everyone. I won’t go into too much detail, but these past few months have been a bit tough. A member of my immediate family was diagnosed with cancer and put on chemo and it’s all been a bit crazy, especially with end of semester exams and the Christmas rush thrown in the mix. All things considered, I’m doing alright. Thank you for those of you who sent PMs and reviews to check up on me. It’s very much appreciated!

I stepped out of my room, grinning like an idiot, with the right side of my hair tied back in an elaborate twist held together with silver beads and sneaky elastic bands. The rest of my hair flowed in its natural waves to brush my shoulders; it was my signature look. Having my hair beads back made me feel like myself again. Well, excluding the Cerberus uniform that is.

It was the morning after my chat with Shepard and, all things considered, things seemed to be going well so far. Mordin was tinkering away in his lab, and Garrus was tinkering away in the gun battery. Sure, I may be being monitored at every turn, but I was on the Normandy and Shepard was talking to me.

The down side? Boot camp with Normandy nice-guy, Jacob Taylor.

I had received a ping on my shiny, new omnitool that Jacob would be waiting in the Cargo Bay for me at 1200 hours for more training. Along with the message had been an attachment with a schmancy schedule of what I was to do on my own. A lot of it was basic strength training, but when you have spindly little arms like mine, a single push-up is a big ask, let alone the fifty Jacob had assigned for both before breakfast and after dinner.

Jacob had his own duties to attend in the morning, but after lunch, he had three fabulous hours to make me suffer. I had been assigned to help Mess Sergeant Gardener with food prep and miscellaneous maintenance in the morning, but my afternoon was laid out like this: an hour of shooting practice down at the range, gun maintenance after that, then hand-to-hand combat training.

Shooting and guns was alright, I suppose. Combat training, I found out that afternoon, was an absolute butt.

We started out with how to stand, simple blocks, and learning how the punch correctly.

After the eighth time my block collapsed causing me to hit myself in the face, I realised that strength was, without a doubt, my biggest weakness.

“This is ridiculous.” I huffed in frustration and plonked down onto the floor. “It’s not like I’m going to be doing ground work with Shepard or anything.”

That much was becoming alarmingly apparent. As much as I wanted to run with Shepard and help her fight, I was severely lacking in the combat skills required for such a dream. So I had two options: train like crazy and maybe be good enough to fight in six months, or focus my efforts in more of a support capacity and become more of a fortune-telling advisor.

Both options were going to be a test of my will, but only one of them was plausible in the short time frame we had.

“Every Cerberus operative receives basic combat training upon employment,” Jacob was saying as he frowned down at me. “The aim of this training isn’t to put you in the field, it’s to keep you alive until help arrives.”

“I know,” I said. “It just feels a bit like a waste of time.”

“You just need practice,” said Jacob. I didn’t escape me that he had dodged my comment about wasting time. “Your form is fine,” he continued, ”you just need to build your strength and get used to taking hits. Once you build a bit of muscle you’ll be able to hold your own.”

I pulled a face and Jacob crossed his arms.

“Did you do the exercises I said to this morning?”

I froze and offered a sheepish grin. Jacob let out a sigh.

“Do them now,” he said.

“What?”

He got down to his knees then into the push-up start position, forming a perfect plank next to me.

“I'll do them with you,” he said and I looked at him in disbelief.

“I can't even do one-”

“Hurry up,” he said, voice edged with the command.

I rolled over onto my stomach and pushed myself up onto my knees with my ankles crossed over each other.

Jacob gave a look to my pose and I sent him a withering look.

“I'm a weak girl. Leave me alone.”

He huffed a laugh sent a thank you heavenward that he was being so easy going about this whole training process.

“One, two-” Jacob began to move and I followed his timing. I did okay for the first three or so but quickly tired. By twelve I was barely bending my arms and the space between my shoulders and boobs was burning like crazy.

“I give-!” I groaned and collapsed onto the cool metal.

Jacob stayed in his perfect plank and waited for me to recover. I could feel his eyes watching and waiting for me to get back up. I guess it was a really good thing that Jacob was the most patient Boot Camp Sergeant in the galaxy.

After a moment filled only with my over-exaggerated panting and his steady breathing, Jacob gave a sigh and rolled over into a sitting position.

“One minutes rest then we do more,” he said. “We will keep going until you have done all fifty, then we'll do sit ups and lunges.”

I stifled a complaint and pushed myself back up into the starting pose, Jacob mimicking me after a moment to resume the count.

By the time we were done, everything hurt, and everything was awful.

To my great annoyance, Jacob still maintained his cool composure having made it through with barely a glistening brow.

“We’ll do twenty of each tomorrow and build up to the full fifty over time,” he said from beside the weapons bench where he was tidying some tools from earlier.

I offered him a weak thumbs up from my place on the floor and listened to his receding footfalls as he left via the elevator.

I brought a knee up to my chest a began the slow process of stretching while I thought through my next move.

Mass Effect 2 is a smooth ride story-wise. I honestly don't have to do a lot and Shepard will succeed. It's what I do choose to do that could potentially ruin everything. Do I attempt to beat the Collectors and Reapers to particular targets, or do I wait for them to strike and respond with a planned counterattack? Or perhaps everything would just Schrodinger back to how events play in the games? Like, there is no actual time line to work with, event only trigger when you open the door related to them. That's how Schrodinger’s Cat works, right?

Forget the cat. Guess I'll only know if I test it.

And now was as good a time as any seeing as the Convict Dossier mission contained some very avoidable circumstances.

After lying on the Cargo Bay floor for another ten minutes, lazily stretching in the hope I wouldn’t be too sore later, I rolled onto my feet and made for the elevator. I stopped briefly at engineering to visit my room and freshen up as much as possible before heading for the Crew Deck.

It was getting close to seven o’clock and multiple crew members were in the mess, talking over their meals as I strode past towards Miranda’s office. Seeing that the lock was green, I made to enter.

“Hey, Miranda,” I stepped cautiously into her office, looking around the familiar space with curiosity. I hadn’t been in here yet and it was just how it was in the games. The armchair was by the window; I could even see into her room behind her desk.

“What?” She barely glanced up from her screen, fingers continuously tapping at her keyboard.

My gaze slid from her quarters to the dark haired beauty, watching her type for a moment before I spoke. “How much would you say Shepard is worth?” I asked

Miranda’s hands stilled for the briefest of moments before resuming their endless tattoo. “Too much,” she replied.

“And you're about to let her walk onto a heavily armed space station notorious for trading in dangerous and expensive criminals?”

Miranda lifted her fingers from their work and folded her hands on her desk, fixing me with her icy gaze, waiting.

“I just don't think it's a good idea to put such a valuable investment in such obvious danger.”

“It's Shepard’s job to deal with danger,” Miranda said simply. “Besides, she insists she needs to be there to make the deal.”

“Does she?” I asked. “I am eight-hundred percent sure a fight will break out making everything much harder than it needs to be.”

Miranda quirked an eyebrow. “And what makes you say that?”

“This is Shepard we’re talking about.”

The barest hint of a smile touched Miranda’s lip.

“So you want to convince the Commander to stay on the ship?” Miranda said.

“Yes.”

“And you're talking to me because…?”

“You're the rational one.”

Miranda gave a dry laugh and stood from her desk, walking over to the window to gaze out at a passing star.

“We have already considered these factors and Shepard will still be attending the mission,” she said, turning from the view back to me. “She insists that Jack will more readily follow her if she is personally there to secure her release.”

I frowned.“But Jack is being held in cryo. If you can get her out while she's still in cryo then it won't matter.”

“Do you think if a fight does break out that Shepard won't succeed?”

“I know she’ll succeed,” I said a little too quickly. Miranda quirked an eyebrow and I steadied myself with a breathe. “I just… why waste lives?”

“Why indeed,” said a voice from the doorway.

I spin round to see Shepard standing, arms crossed and unimpressed, in the doorway to Miranda’s office.

“Shepard-” I started but she silenced me with a hand.

“Miranda messaged me when you arrived,” she said, answering my unspoken question.

I glanced over at the XO but found her as impassive as ever as she silently stared down the Commander. I looked back to Shepard and found her watching me expectantly: arms crossed, weight resting in her back foot.

“We can do this without fighting,” I said.

Shepard stood still for a long moment, seeming to consider the situation with great care. "It would seem that we can," she said.

"Aria holds sway over the Blue Suns and you are currently on her good side. If you stay there and keep Purgatory, one of the largest Blue Suns bases, operational then Aria will be able to offer you a bigger mercenary force when you need it."

"What make you so sure Aria will help us?"

"Because she respects you and because she realises the Reapers are as big a threat to her as to anyone."

Shepard shifted her weight and said, "We kill Blue Suns all the time."

"Not on this scale," I shot back. "This station is a base and a source of income to them. You cripple this base you cripple their operations."

"That might be a good thing."

"It could." I nodded. "But I'd rather be on good terms with them than bad."

"And I'd rather have them on the back foot than on even ground," said Shepard

I opened my mouth the retaliate but found I didn't have to words. Her argument definitely made more sense in the present, but I was concerned with the future and that was what I had to make her see.

"Who are we really fighting?" I asked, my voice low and questioning.

There was another pause while I waited for her answer. Miranda still stood by the window, silently watching the exchange.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Shepard's eyes softened and the edge of her mouth curled up in a hint of a smile. “Garrus will lead the pick up,” Shepard said with a firm nod. “Miranda, you and Jacob will accompany him.”

“Understood.” If Miranda had any problems with this result it didn't show.

“We will meet at 0800 in the Conference Room to discuss it further.”

The two older women shared a nod before Miranda returned to her desk and the Commander strode back out the door leaving me standing dumbstruck off to the side for a few seconds before scurrying after Shepard.

As I left her office I threw Miranda a hasty, “See ya,” but she was already focussed on her screen and paid me no mind.

“Shepard!” I jogged after her to catch up with her long strides. Hearing my call, she stopped and waited for me in front of the elevator, waiting for me to find the words for what I wanted to say. In the end I settled on a simple, “Thanks. For understanding back there.”

The Commander seemed to understand what I was getting at and gave a wry smile. “Why waste lives, right?” she said, turning and hitting the button for the elevator.

“It’s just…” I started, trying to sort through my head for words but found none to be very forthcoming. “I wasn’t expecting you to agree so easily.”

Shepard kept facing the doors, waiting for the galaxy’s slowest elevator to arrive and for once I was grateful for it’s tardiness.

I hesitantly stepped closer to her. “Why did you agree?”

Shepard turned her head and fixed me with those emerald eyes, freezing me in place with their intensity. In their depths I saw the strength of her spirit and the hardness of her convictions, but closer to the surface lay the slightest piece of hesitation. Even she didn’t fully know why she had agreed like she did.

“Instinct,” Shepard said just as the elevator doors hummed open to receive her.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she continued, almost hurrying on before I asked more questions. “I don’t like staying on the ship. But if there is a chance that we can avoid a fight then I’m willing to suffer a little boredom.”

“There’s always Joker for company?” I shrugged and gave a lopsided grin.

“Great.”

I laughed at that and waved her off as she hit the button for her destination.

Just before the doors descended she stuck a hand into the doorway, stopping them from shutting and fixing me with her gaze. All traces of humour gone her eyes now blazed with command, .

“Next time you have something to say-” she said, those eyes drilling into mine. “-you say it to me. Alright?”

I clenched my jaw and gave a nod.

“Good.” Shepard gave a final nod back and let the doors shut.

With Shepard gone I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. While things hadn’t gone exactly to plan, it had ended roughly the way I had wanted it to, so that was good.

I shook my head a little to try and clear the last of Shepards’s eyes from my mind before I strolled over to the mess table. It was time to rest my everything from the day and enjoy whatever the Mess Sergeant had cooked up for dinner.

A few of the crew offered me a greeting before returning to their own conversations, and I was fine with that. I’d talked enough that day and now I needed to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!  
> Thanks for the reviews Surthys, zHellas, and sljzz! I love to talk and am always happy to do so.  
> Next chapter: Jack Comes to Town.


	8. Psychotic Biotic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice long chapter for you today! Not really, it just felt long to write...
> 
> Note: I added a small section to the conversation between Shepard and Jaime in Chapter 7 where Jaime is trying to convince the Commander to not visit Purgatory station. It just adds a little more justification behind not wanting to fight the Blue Suns because you can recruit them to fight for you in ME3 via Aria.
> 
> Additional notes are at the end.

 

“Remember, it's the Blue Suns you'll be dealing with. Stay alert and stick to the plan.”

We had docked with Purgatory Station just five minutes previous and Shepard stood before the ground squad giving them one last briefing before they disembarked.

“Keep the comms open at all times, I’ll be listening in from the bridge ready with back up if you need it.”

I hung back by the galaxy map watching the exchange. This was it: my first test of the narrative.

Garrus, Miranda, and Jacob offered their Commander a salute before exiting via the airlock. Shepard waited until the doors slid shut before turning into the cockpit.

I took a deep, steadying breath and hoped I didn’t look too nervous about the whole thing. Once I was sure I was calm, I jogged up and stood on the threshold, looking out at the prison ship.

“How are things looking, Joker?” said Shepard.

“All quiet so far, Commander,” he replied. That same, dry humour edged his voice as in the games. I should probably stop comparing things to the games really. I mean, of course everything is the same.

“I'll be overseeing the operation from here. Be ready at a moment's notice.”

“Aye aye.”

Shepard straightened and glanced over her shoulder, noticing me fully for the first time. She blinked and turned back to the displays; ignoring me, huh?

Joker notice Shepard noticing me and swivelled in his chair to look back. His trademark SR2 cap was fixed atop his unshaven head casting a shadow across his otherwise bright eyes.

I smiled a little nervously and said, “Hey, Joker.”

“Woah woah woah!” Joker did a double take and spun further in his chair to look at Shepard. “What is she doing here?”

“Relax Joker,” said Shepard. “She's not going to do anything.”

“Really? Because last I checked she was the most suspicious person on this ship, and we are surrounded by shady terrorists.”

“I promise I'm nice,” I said.

“Because that will be such a consolation at your inevitable betrayal.”

“Okay that’s enough,” Shepard interrupted. “We have a mission to focus on.”

Joker shifted back to his controls. “Aye aye, Commander.”

“EDI, patch me through to ground squad.”

“Of course, Shepard.”

Shepard waved her omnitool as her comms system was routed through the ship.

“Garrus, is your squad ready?”

These was a moment and then Garrus’ gravelled tone sounded through the cockpit as clear as though he were in the room. “Ready and waiting, Shepard.”

“Disembark. Keep me updated.”

“You got it,” he replied and there was silence once more.

That is beyond exceptional sound quality. I need me some speakers that good.

I stayed just behind Shepard, waiting for our next update. Soon enough they would meet with the security officer at the entrance who would tell them that the ‘package’ was being prepped and they had to hand over their guns.

“As this is a high security vessel, you will need to relinquish your weapons before we proceed,” said a new voice through the speakers. Speak of the devil, it was the security guy.

“I’ll be keeping my gun,” Garrus replied.

“Everyone stand down.” A new voice entered the fray; one that I recognised as the Warden.

“I am Warden Kuril and this is my ship,”  said the Warden’s voice. “I understood we would be dealing with one Commander Shepard for this exchange?”

“You’re dealing with me instead,” Garrus replied. “Garrus Vakarian. Got a problem with that?”

Back in the Normandy, Shepard smile a little and there was a moment where I could practically see the Warden bristle before he gave his smooth reply. “Not at all. Your weapons will be returned on the way out. You must understand this is just standard procedure.”

“And it’s my standard procedure to keep my gun.”

Again there was a pause during which I assumed the two Turians to be staring each other down.

“Very well,” said the Warden. “You may proceed. Our facility is more than secure enough to handle three armed guests.”

I fought back a laugh at that. Oh, how little he knew. Nothing stopped the crew of the Normandy. Not even a fleet of Reapers.

We listened along as the Warden filled Garrus and his squad in on the rest of the pickup details and showed them through the facility. Along the way, Garrus occasionally asked a question about the running of the facility and even personal questions of the Warden in a similar fashion to Shepard in the games with the Warden responding accordingly.

It was interesting how similar the dialogue was to how I remember it in the games. Maybe it was because they were all logical questions to ask in the situation, but everything was feeling a bit on rails.

As for the Warden, I don’t hate the guy. He ran Purgatory as a way to keep dangerous criminals away from innocents. Sure, his methods weren’t the most agreeable, but his motives were sound as far as I could tell.

I watched the back of Shepard’s head as she leaned over the console, shoulders tense and eyes the side of her jaw held in a severe line.

I remembered back to our last conversation and cringed at my own forwardness. Confronting people straight up like that was not my usual style at all. I’m more of a, ‘never bring up the thing that may result in conflict/emotions ever’ sort of person.

Now suddenly I'm barging into people's offices and asking personal questions or my elders. What will I do next?

I tuned back into the comms in time to here the Warden saying, “Out Processing is straight down this hallway. Just keep going past the supermax wing and the interrogation rooms.”

I felt my stomach drop. Those words seemed a little too familiar.

Shepard must have notice the shift in my mood and locked her gaze on me. I looked back at her and tried to suppress my panic.

“I don’t like that guy,” Joker said making me jump. I had forgotten he was listening in too.

“His tone is a bit malicious,” I said back with a strained sort of laugh.

Joker raised an eyebrow and glanced up at me from his chair before mumbling something incoherent and focussing back on his instruments. Shepard, on the other hand, stood straight and crossed her arms. She swore under her breath before hitting the comm.

“Ground squad, this is Shepard. Be on your guard, this feels like trouble.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Jacob.

“If they think they can take us they’re in for a hell of a surprise,” Garrus growled out.

I clenched my jaw and swallowed nervously. The next few minutes passed painfully slowly and with every passing second I could feel the dread growing in my stomach. This was definitely going to go wrong and Shepard was here on the ship and not on the station and it was all my fault. 

“Sorry, Garrus,” said the Warden’s voice. There it was. “It’s nothing personal.”

“Garrus, report.” Shepard called over the comm, a slight tinge of panic edging her voice. “What’s going on?”

 

“Shepard,” Garrus said. “The Warden has us backed into a dead end and there are guards just outside the door. I managed to seal the lock but it’s only a matter of time before they get through and a fight breaks out.”

“So much for the peaceful option,” Miranda said and I could feel her passive derision oozing through the speakers.

She glanced at me before turning back to the comms. “Hang tight Garrus. We’ll think of something.”

“The sooner the better, Shepard.”

The comm link clicked closed and Shepard thumped her fist against the console. “Dammit.”

This wasn’t good at all. We needed an out and with Shepard on the ship I wasn’t confident in the ground squad’s ability to get back here alive. No offense to them, they are all excellent operatives, but Shepard had a habit of winning no matter the odds.

“Tell him we’re packing,” I said.

“What?”

“The ship. Tell the Warden that we are armed to the teeth and ready to take them out if this goes south,” I said, eyes wide with panic and focus. “Lie.”

“Excellent idea. Tell an obvious lie to the nest of heavily armed mercs,” Joker piped up. “I know the theme of this ship is ‘suicide missions’ but this is a little sooner than expected.”

“Joker stop overreacting,” Shepard chided before swapping to me.

Soldier’s eyes stared into my own, wide and slightly panicked gaze. Understanding flicking through those expressive emerald orbs before Shepard turned back to the console hitting the comm link.

“Garrus, see if you can patch me through to the Warden.”

“On it.” A few moments passed before Garrus voice came back, sounding a little further away like when you put someone on speaker. “You’re on,” he said.

“Warden,” Shepard called, voice full of command and confidence. “This is Commander Shepard.”

“Shepard,” the Warden drawled, his voice echoing slightly as though he had stepping into wide, empty space. “How nice of you to finally talk to me. Feel like making a trade? Your crew members who are trapped and at my mercy, for you.”

Shepard ignored him, taking charge of the conversation and plowing forward with the plan. “My ship is carrying enough firepower to blow you and all your potential profit to oblivion, so I suggest you let my men go.”

“You’re bluffing.” The Warden scoffed. “A ship that small couldn’t hope to take out a station as big as this one.”

“You want to bet? This is an experimental Cerberus frigate.” She stopped and let that sink in. “You have been paid, now let us close this deal and be on our way.”

Silence. No one in the cockpit moved an inch.

“Shepard,” Garrus said over the comms, voice low and cautious. “I don’t think-”

“You have a deal, Shepard,” the Warden cut in.

“Give us Jack and we’ll be on our way.”

“Of course. My men will should your team the way.”

Shepard stood back from the console and crossed her arms, still on guard.

“Nice,” Joker said, relief flooding his shoulders as he nodded in approval.

“We’re not in the clear yet.” Shepard hit the link to talk to the squad. “Keep your weapons at the ready. Any sign of trouble and you fight your way back to the ship.”

“And Jack?” Miranda’s voice asked.

“We’ll figure it out.”

The comms fell silent as Garrus and the squad were lead through to processing.

“They're bringing Jack out now,” Miranda reported.

“Bugger.” I leant past Shepard and hit the squad comm. “Miranda, Jacob, you guys have to be ready to counter Jack’s biotics at a moment’s notice.”

“You think they’ll attack?” Miranda asked

“Well…” I chewed nervously at my bottom lip. “It may not be the best idea to have the first two uniforms she sees coming out of cryo being Cerberus…”

Shepard swore quietly. “The Warden better hope his security is up to the task.”

She was tense, anyone could see that. I could tell she wanted to be there, that the waiting and the inaction was driving her crazy.

But I had been right. If Shepard had been there there would have been a fight. A little annoyance on her part to save lives was worth it. Unfortunately, that was little consolation to Shepard in the moments between reports where all she could do was wait.

"That's Jack?" Came Jacob’s bewildered voice and I had to smile a little.

“Don't get distracted, Jake,” I joked. She was indeed a sight.

Joker and Shepard look confused and I just shook my head. “You’ll see.”

The sound of creaking metal and panicked chatter filtered through the open link.

“Garrus,” Shepard called. “Report?”

“It’s Jack,” Garrus said quickly. “She- watch out!”

“Garrus!”

A loud bang followed by an explosion. Everyone in the cockpit flinch back from the speakers exchanging wide-eyed looks. A faint feral scream echoed through the link along with the screech of straining metal.

“Get that field up!” Someone called from somewhere on in the station.

“On it!” Another voice replied.

Another explosion then… silence.

“Report.” Shepard's call was met with silence. No cliche static, just dead silence. She hit the link again. “Report!”

“We’re here, Shepard,” Garrus said, cautious and somewhat disbelieving.

“What happened?” Shepard demanded.

“Jack tried to fight her way out,” he said. “She broke her restraints and took out two YMIR mechs before they were able to capture her in a barrier. She threw one of the mechs at the control room. The glass held but the shock had us off balance.”

“Holy shit,” Joker muttered. Same here Joker, same here.

“Jack,” Miranda’s voice broke through, clear and business like. No sign of the nerves the rest of us were feeling about our soon to be crew mate. “My name is Miranda Lawson. We have a job for you.”

“Like hell I’m going with you,” spat Jack. “You’re Cerberus.”

I cringed a bit. That's not helping Miranda. This was something Shepard had to handle. The Commander must have had that vibe too because she asked to be patched through to speaker.

"Jack, this is Commander Shepard,” she said in full Commander-mode.

“Who?”

“I'm the Commander of the ship getting you out of here.”

"You sound like a pussy,” Jack spat. “You send a few of your Cerberus thugs to take me somewhere and expect me to just go along with it? You think I’m stupid?”

"I may be working with Cerberus, but I'm not Cerberus."

Jack scoffed. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

“Either way,” Shepard pressed on. Despite not being face-to-face with Jack, she still somehow managed to carry all of her usual authority through the force of her voice. “I'm your ticket off of this station. You want to live? You come with me.”

Jack paused for a moment and there was silence as everyone waited for her answer. “If you want me to come with you, make it worth my while.”

“You join my crew, I’ll do what I can for you.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I don’t.”

“Cerberus ship like yours probably has all sorts of files on me. I want to see them. All of them.”

“Alright.”

“You don’t have the authority to do that-” Miranda started before Jack cut her off.

"Oh, the cheerleader is upset!" She mocked. “Even better.”

I could practically see Miranda silently bristle as Jack gave a scathing laugh.

“Hey, Shepard or whatever," Jack called over the comm. "You better be straight-up with me or I'll tear your ship apart from the inside out.”

“You’ll get your files.”

“Good. Now get me out of this thing.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Shepard.” The Warden cut in. “I hope to see you again someday.”

“I won’t be back.” Shepard violently stabbed the button to close the open comm link. She took a moment before connecting back through to the ground squad.

“Miranda, bring Jack straight to the conference room when you get back.”

“Of course.” The Cerberus operative didn’t sound happy with proceedings at all, but that was just part of the fun.

“Tell me if anything else happens, Garrus,” Shepard said.

“Will do, Shepard.” Then the comms went silent again, but this time was the silence of a job done. The tension in cockpit drained away like water from bath, giving the occupants a moment's reprieve before the squad and their latest crew member arrives.

“I hope you know what you're doing, Commander,” said Joker.

“She's crazy and has nothing to lose.” Shepard shrugged. “She'll fit right in.”

“We may as well start padding the walls for the next one,” Joker quipped making me laugh a little.

Shepard cracked a wry smile and gave the pilot’s shoulder the solid pat. “Get us out of here as soon as they’re on board,” she said.

“Aye aye.”

Shepard stood tall and rolled the tension out of her shoulders before turning for the conference room.

“All things considered,” I said,  jogging a little to keep up with her fast strides. She’s not really that much taller than me yet she somehow closes twice the distance I do in half the time. “I think that went well.”

Shepard glanced my way but didn’t slow down. “There was no real fight and minimal property damage,” she said. “And we got what we came for, so I guess you could say success.”

“But you didn’t like being stuck on the ship,” I said and Shepard scoffed in a ‘no kidding’ way.

“I don’t plan to let Garrus lead anymore missions in the near future, no,” she said. “I think it’s worse being unable to do anything than being shot at.”

“Good.” I smiled as we stopped just outside the conference room doors. “Being stuck on the ship doesn’t suit you.”

Shepard cocked a brow and headed inside. “I didn’t think so either.”

We didn’t have to wait long before EDI notified us that the ground squad had boarded and Jack and Miranda were on their way.

"Enter the Psychotic Biotic," I muttered to myself when the conference room doors slid apart revealing Miranda closely followed by Jack in all her revealing glory.

"Welcome aboard the Normandy." Shepard stepped forward and nodded at Jack, her eyes flicking briefly over her tattoos and the numerous scars that lined her flesh. “I’m Commander Shepard.”

“Hmph. Thought you’d be taller.” Jack crossed her arms and leant back on her heels. God, the belt is so distracting in real life.

"On this ship we follow orders," Miranda said as she strolled over to stand beside Shepard, clasped her hands behind her back and straightened to the perfect picture of military discipline.

"Whatever. I'm only here for the deal," she said fixing Shepard with her furious, blue eyes. "You better not have been screwing with me else I'll tear this ship apart from the inside out."

Shepard nodded again. “I’ll have those files delivered to you as promised.”

“Shepard-” Miranda made to protest but Shepard silenced her with a hand.

"Jack gets full access to the files she wants in return for her cooperation. That was the deal."

"The crew quarters are on Deck two if you want to go get settled in."

Jack didn't bother hiding her disgust as she said turned down the offer.

"No thanks. I’d prefer somewhere out of the way where I won’t be disturbed."

"You can have my room if you want?" I piped up and immediately regretted it as Jack's eyes honed in on my presence. I had seen plenty of eyes in my time, but this was my first time seeing the eyes of a murderer.

"Who are you?"

My tongue felt thick in my mouth, throat dry. I opened my mouth to reply but no sound came out. People like Shepard had killed, of course, and their eyes held a certain hardness to the edges as a sign, but Jack's eyes were completely different. There was a hardness, yes, but there was also something else. A glint of eagerness, like she was just waiting for someone to make a wrong step so she could pounce and crush you with her bare hands. It was wholly unnerving and utterly terrifying.

"Thought so." Jack scoffed and turned to leave. "I'll be in the hold or someplace with not a lot of foot traffic. The less contact I have with people, the better."

Jack walked out of the conference room leaving Shepard, Miranda and I to visibly deflated as the tension left the room with her. Well, most of it.

Miranda wasn't pleased at having top secret Cerberus files made available to a criminal. She set her jaw and sent Shepard a look. The Commander stoically matched her gaze and held her ground, challenging the other woman.

Miranda shook her head and followed Jack out of the conference room. “We’ll talk about this later,” she said.

As the doors slid closed I turned to Shepard and said, “Barrel of laughs isn’t she?”

Shepard cracked a wry smile. “Jack or Miranda?”

“Both."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to ask you guys for a bit of feedback on the dialogue in this story. Do you think that it is believable and engaging? Can you see depth to the characters through what they say?
> 
> Dialogue is something I think I’m pretty good at and I want it to be one of the defining factors of my writing, so if you have any feedback on the conversations that play out in this story, let me know and I will be eternally grateful!
> 
> BONUS: How It Should Have Ended
> 
> Jaime: Tell him we’re packing.
> 
> Shepard: What?
> 
> Jaime: Packing our bags and leaving. He can keep Jack; no one is worth this much trouble!


	9. Speak of the Devil

I was back in the mess with Mess Sergeant Gardner. It had been two days since Jack had joined the crew and I had been spending as much time away from the engineering floor as possible. You may think that the mess was the worst place to avoid someone, but Jack never came up here during the day shift. She came up during the night and took a ration bar or two and disappeared again.

Perhaps it was stupid to try and avoid the latest crew mate, but she flat out terrified me.

“You got those done yet?” Mess Sergeant Gardner called over to where I was chopping space veggies. 

“Yeah,” I replied, picking up my board and carrying it over to the pot.

“I wish we had some better ingredients to make the crew some first class meals before the last mission.”

“Shepard would probably get you some if you asked.”

“That woman has enough to worry about without me adding to the list.”

“You know how much she cares about the crew,” I said. “She’d probably jump at the chance to boost moral.”

Gardener scratched at his stubble and gave a grunt of consideration. “Suppose. I’ll ask her next time I see her,” he said as he dumped the veggies into the pot and got to stirring. “I’m fine from here on. You go do whatever it is you do.”

I shrugged and sat down at the mess table. It wasn’t even lunch yet and I still had a few hours before afternoon training.

I sat tapping my fingers on the cool metal of the table before I remembered that I had a supercomputer strapped to my arm and started playing on my omnitool.

It had all the functions of a smartphone, but with a million times the processing power. It completed functions and loaded screens faster than I could press it's hard light buttons.

I was deep in reading an article detailing the Mars Beacon and the First Contact War when a tray of lunch stew slid its way across the table and into my field of vision.

“I'm sorry for shooting you,” said a voice.

“Hmm?” I looked up to see the engineers, Gabby and Kenneth, both standing by the table with trays of their own.

“I said I'm sorry for shooting you,” Gabby repeated. “In the hold last week.”

“Ah,” I looked at the food in front of me then over at Mess Sergeant Gardner in the kitchen and he just shrugged. “It's cool,” I said with a small smile. “No harm done.”

“Mind if we sit with you?”

“No, you’re good.”

“Great!” Kenneth exclaimed, his Scottish brogue rolling his r’s as he dropped his tray onto the table, the contents only just staying in their little compartments. “Now that's over we can get to eatin’.”

Gabby set her tray down far more gently and the pair sat down in the chairs opposite me.

I picked up my spoon and picked up one of those delightful, unidentifiable vegetables.

“I'm Gabby, that's Kenneth,” Gabby said with a smile.

That's right, I haven't spoken to these guys properly yet. Kenneth reached across the table and gave my hand a firm shake. I introduced myself in response and got to eating.

“So,” Gabby started, “you seem to know the Commander quite well.”

“You could say that,” I replied around a mouthful of what tasted like carrot but had the texture of peas.

“How long have you know her?” Gabby asked,

“Since Eden Prime.” It wasn't a lie. 

“So you knew her when she was a Spectre, before she…”

Died, was the unspoken ending to that sentence. I nodded and looked down at my tray. I needed to change the topic. I knew the longer we stayed on the ‘Shepard’ topic, the more cracks would eventually appear in my story.

Luckily, Gabby - bless her cotton socks -interpreted my avoidance and frown of thought as discomfort regarding the loss of my friend and sparked a conversation with Kenneth.

I breathed a subtle sigh of relief and spooned some stew into my mouth, grateful to no longer be in the spotlight. However, my relief was not to last because there is only so much a sociable Scot can ignore the elephant in the room.

“So,” Kenneth huddled closer across the table, “what do you think of our new deck mate?”

“Jack?” I swirled my stew in thought. “I think she’ll surprise us.”

“Good surprise or bad surprise?”

“Good surprise, Kenneth,” I said with light amusement.

“Well I think she's bad news,” Gabby said. “I just don't feel comfortable working so close to a notorious criminal.”

I frowned. “Gabby, you work for a widely regarded ‘criminal’ organisation.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “but Cerberus is different.”

“And maybe Jack is too.” I gave a half hearted smile. “This is her second chance. Let's not make it any more difficult than it has to be.”

The engineers stared blankly across the table at me and I felt the tips of my ears heat up. From the corner of my eye I could see Gardner chuckling lightly and I clenched my jaw.

“Well,” Kenneth said a little too loudly, a smile playing at his lips. “I wasn't expecting a lecture with lunch.”

“Sorry.” I cringed in embarrassment but there was no bite to his words, just amiable humour.

“It's okay,” Gabby said with a quick smile. “You're right. I shouldn't be so hasty with my judgement.”

I gave a weak smile and ducked my head to keep eating. The sooner I was done, the sooner I could get away. Gabby and Kenneth soon resumed their chatter, leaving much of the awkwardness behind.

When I was on my last mouthful, I spotted Miranda walking past out of the corner or my eye. I watched her for a moment before almost choking on my food; I’d remembered one of those classic Mass Effect jokes. I wiped at the sauce-drool on my chin as I desperately tried to suppress my laughter.

“You okay?”

I nodded as I struggled to breathe. “I’m good,” I squeaked out, my eyes watering. Someone passed me a cup of water and I downed it gratefully, taking a few deep breaths to make sure I was sufficiently recovered. 

“Go down the wrong pipe?” Kenneth asked.

I shook my head. “Just remembered something funny,” I said.

“What?” Kenneth swivelled about in his chair and caught a glimpse of Miranda disappearing around the corner. “About Operative Lawson?” he asked.

I took a deep drink of water and nodded.

“Care to share?” The scot leaned in across the table.

I almost told him right there, but quickly thought better of it. I shook my head and tried to go back to eating. “You’ll never be able to take her seriously again.”

“If that’s not bait I don’t know what is,” he said. “Spill!”

“No.” I had a terrible feeling it would blow up in my face if I said anything.

“Bah!” Kenneth slumped back and threw up his hands saying, “Honestly, I think we all need something to crack her ‘Ice Queen’ image, don’t you think?”

“It’s not even that funny.” I said with a shrug.

“Now you’re just dodging the question,” the engineer accused. I opened my mouth to protest but he just shuffled his elbows onto the table and waited. 

“Alright, whatever.” I conceded.

Kenneth clapped his hands together in victory. “Lay it on me!” His eyes shone with anticipation and Gabby looked apprehensive. 

I made sure my mouth was empty before I spoke. “Miranda,” I started, voice low and conspiratorial, “is the name of one of the moons that orbits Uranus.”

Kenneth’s face scrunched in confusion. “That's it?” he asked. 

“That's it,” I confirmed.

Kenneth immediately burst out laughing while Gabby tried her best to look unimpressed.

“Uranus!” Kenneth exclaimed, laughing uproariously. “Because she has a fantastic arse!”

“Kenneth,” Gabby chided, lips pursed in disapproval despite her eyes being bright with humour. “That’s hardly something you should be saying about a senior officer.”

I gave a weak chuckle and prayed no one would be curious about his ridiculously loud laughter.

“That’s gold, stowaway,” Kenneth said, calming down slowly. “Moon of Uranus…”

He was well on his way to re-living the joke when the devil herself came walking back around the corner to her office. Kenneth was too busy wiping the tears from his eyes to notice.

Kenneth was still repeating the line to himself and wheezing the occasional laugh at volume. Across the mess, Miranda, having heard the laughter looked over and noticed my moment of panic that I wasn’t able to disguise in time.

“Kenneth-” I tried to warn and I aimed a kick at him under the table but he was too far away. I was powerless as my imminent doom stalked her way over to investigate.

“Gold, stowaway,” Kenneth was saying, “I won’t be able to keep a straight face next time I see-”

“Next time you see who?” Miranda cut in, arms crossed and brow raised.

“Operative Lawson!” I snorted down a laugh as Kenneth and Gabby practically fell out their chairs in surprise.

“What was the joke?” the Operative asked.

“No joke, Operative Lawson,” Kenneth stumbled out. The poor engineer wasn’t fooling anyone. “Just a bit of fun.”

“Really?” she asked.  “Then what was so funny if it wasn’t a joke?”

The three of us exchanged wide-eyed looks; there was no way we would survive if Miranda found out what we had been saying - well, what Kenneth hadn’t shut up about. Both engineers needled me with accusatory eyes while I sent back my best, ‘no way in hell!’ look.

“Well?” Miranda said, breaking up our silent conversation.

I swallowed and sent Miranda a sheepish grin, mentally begging forgiveness. “We were just…” I started, pausing to think of a quick excuse, “...telling terrible puns and drawing entertaining conclusions.”

“About what?”

I opened and closed my mouth dumbly. I knew lying was not going to work against the operative, so I shut my mouth and blew air from my nose. “You will never forgive me,” I said.

“Won’t I?”

God, I felt like a kid getting told off by the teacher. “Did you know that ‘Miranda’ means ‘object to be admired’?” I blurted out with a nervous laugh.

Miranda raised an eyebrow. “I did,” she said.

“I didn’t,” Kenneth piped up. “It’s a good name.”

“Very fitting,” I added. “And ‘Jaime’ means ‘usurper’, but please don’t take that one too seriously-”

“Spit it out, Morgan,” Miranda cut me off, unimpressed steel closing in on her eyes at my blatant stalling. 

There was no escape. 

“I just pointed out that ‘Miranda’ is the name of a moon that orbits Uranus,” I blurted out.

Kenneth not so subtly snorted and became very interested in the table top.

Miranda pursed her lips, any humour that could have been there gone from her eyes.

“Not that I’m calling you a…” I scrambled to pick the pieces, all nervous smiles and pleading eyes, “... it was more in admiration of your… yeah…”

Kenneth was barely suppressing his laughter despite his death looming close to his left shoulder. Gabby had to elbow him hard in the ribs to get him to calm down a bit.

“My office.” Miranda turned on her heel and stalked towards said room. All laughter died as the reality of the situation set in.

I flopped back, limp in my seat. “I’m dead.”

“Oh, come on…” Kenneth started but I cut him off.

“I’m going to get blown out an airlock and it’s all your fault,” I hissed at him.

“It was your joke!”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t shut up!”

Kenneth held up his hands helplessly and Gabby just shook her head.

I turned away and slowly stepped towards Miranda’s office, constantly fighting the urge to wring my hands. I felt like a school kid headed for the principal’s office.

Miranda stood waiting by her window when I walked in, the door swooshing closed behind me. She said nothing; just stared out the window into the infinite nothing if space, probably pondering which star she wanted to throw my corpse into.

We stood in silence for what felt like an eternity, my heart pounding in my ears, feeling as though I was going to explode from the nerves and guilt. I had to say something, the tension was killing me.

“Miranda-”

“So,” she cut in, still looking out the glass, “‘moon of Uranus’?”

I swallowed, unsure where this was going. “It is very distracting,” I admitted.

Miranda glanced at me over her shoulder, eyebrow raised in question. “Perhaps I should wear pants?”

“That might be good.”

Miranda looked away back out the window for a moment and lifted a hand to her face and, for a second, I thought she was crying. Her shoulders shook gently and silently and I was suddenly horribly concerned.

I stepped towards her a bit, unsure what to do. Then I noticed she wasn't crying. She was laughing. Actually laughing.

It lasted for only a moment, but it was the first time I had ever seen the woman laugh in a way that wasn't dry or depreciating. It was stunning.

She stood straight and turned to me fully, her mouth once again a stoic line but mirth shone in her eyes. “Don't spread that ‘joke’ of yours around,” she said.

I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Understood,” I said.

“If I hear anymore comments about senior officers that link back to you, you won't live to regret it.”

I couldn't tell if she was joking or not, but I knew she could follow through if she wanted to, and that was enough to keep me silent. We weren't on the best of terms, what with me having potential blackmail material on the crew and being an object of extreme suspicion, but I feel like we had reached a strange tolerance for each other.

“You can go.” She nodded to the door and I almost fell over with relief.

I managed to keep my legs under myself as the door swooshed open.

“One more thing,” Miranda called from where she had seated herself at her desk. I turned back to see her already fixed on her screen, hands flying across the keyboard. “We will be docking with the Citadel in a few hours,” she said. “Be ready to leave the ship.”

“What?” That couldn't be right. I was getting off the Normandy? More than that, I was going to see the Citadel first hand? 

“You will be joining the Commander on her business,” Miranda replied.

My face went slack with surprise before splitting into the dopiest grin of my life.

“Okay,” I said with a hurried nod before practically sprinting from Miranda’s office, leaving behind another offer rare, amused smiles.

I ran past the confused faces of the engineers still sitting in the mess, launched myself into the elevator and slammed the button for the lower level.

In the elevator, I hopped from foot to foot, unable to contain my excitement as I waited impatiently for the ride to be over. When the doors finally pinged open, and I shot out for my room only to barrel straight into Jack.

“Watch it!” The ex-convict growled, shoving me off of her with perhaps too much force.

Barely maintaining my balance, I gave a breathless, “Sorry,” in reply, a quick frown crossing my eyes. What was jack doing out at this time of day? She usually stayed in the hold and only left to get meals at night, right?

Jack gave a derisive snort and pushed her way past me into the elevator.

“Ah,” I half called after her and she gave a irritated glanced over her shoulder at me. “Kenneth and Gabby are in the mess right now.”

“So what?”

“Just in case you don't want Kenneth, uh, watching you while you eat.”

Another snort. “I'll let him know if it bothers me,” she said and I had a feeling she wouldn't let him know with words.

The elevator doors slid closed and I gave my millionth shrug of the day. I’d think about things later. Now? I had some prep to do!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote legit 1,000 words of this at work because I am a terrible employee. Sorry this is so late by the way, summer semester hit me hard and school went back at the same time so I’ve been non-stop working.


	10. The Citadel

“You ready to go?”

“Sure am!”

Shepard stood by the airlock with Garrus and Miranda at either shoulder, all of them kitted out for a combat surface mission despite us only visiting the Citadel.

I was struck with how weird it felt me standing around with a group of highly trained professionals and having no weapon or anything really on my person. I felt kind of naked without a bag slung over my shoulder or a phone in my pocket, I just had my omnitool strapped to my wrist and a smile on my lips.

“You're wearing that?” Shepard said, raising a brow at my civilian attire. I’d changed out of my uniform and back into my old camp shirt and ragged jeans.

“What? I’m comfortable,” I said with a shrug. 

“You're not used to operating within the structure of a company are you?” said Miranda with a dry sigh.

“I haven't worn a uniform since I worked retail,” I said.

Miranda opened her mouth, most likely to state uniform protocol, but Shepard cut in.

“We’ll worry about it later.” She said and a mischievous smile tugged at the edge of her mouth. “I’m just worried that they won’t survive decontamination.”

My mouth fell open and, before I could ask if she was joking, Shepard turned away and called Jacob. The Armory Officer snapped to attention and strode over. 

“Set us up, Jacob,” Shepard said holding her arm out to him.

“Sure thing, Commander.” Jacob’s omnitool blinked to life around his arm as he booted up a program, waving his hand over Shepard’s.

I absently fiddled with a loose thread as I watched her omnitool blink to life. She pressed a few buttons before nodding confirmation to Jacob about whatever they were doing.

Jacob moved over to me and asked to see my omnitool next. 

“What's this?” I asked as I lifted my arm and he pressed more buttons.

“Proximity detector,” Jacob said.

An alert popped up on my wrist asking me to accept a software invite. I squinted at the text box, perplexed.

“Hit, ‘yes’,” Jacob supplied helpfully.

“What am I hitting ‘yes’ to?” I asked, frowning down at my omnitool.

“Like I said, proximity detector,” Jacob explained. “A basic positioning program. While on the station you will stay within 30 feet of the Commander. You go any further, you're omnitool will give you a warning and alert Shepard.

I narrowed my eyes. “So, like, prisoner GPS?”

“We could set it so that if you go further than 30 feet, you get a shock,” Garrus said, fiddling with the scope on his rifle. “But we’ll see how we go.”

I eyed my omnitool nervously. “30 feet is just under 10 metres, right?”

“That is correct, Miss Morgan,” EDI piped up.

“Right.” I hit accept and tucked my hands into my pockets so I wouldn’t fiddle. “I can’t believe you guys are still using the imperial system,” I said. “Isn’t there a more accurate, universal system?”

Jacob shrugged. “Force of habit, I guess.” He tapped at a few more things then sent a nod to Shepard.

“Let’s go,” she said. The Commander stepped into the airlock followed closely by her squad, myself included.

“Hold for decontamination,” said EDI and a blue light flowed into existence. A web of light swept forwards and back, checking us over for any dangerous contaminants. After just one sweep, the light shut off and the outer airlock decompressed with a hiss.

I breathed an unconscious sigh of relief and Shepard looked over at me.

“Glad your clothes are still on?” she said with a subtle smirk.

I felt my ears heat up. “Maybe,” I replied.

She raised a brow. “You’d rather them off?” 

“No!”

“Pity.” She shrugged and Garrus gave a wry chuckle. I felt heat spread into my cheeks and jaw. Bloody hell.

The airlock whooshed open and I took a deep, steadying breath. This was going to be my first time off the Normandy since I arrived just over a week ago; my first time standing on an alien station and seeing other aliens that weren’t Garrus up close.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and followed the others down the walkway and out into the Citadel docking bay.

Immediately my sense were assaulted by the chaotic mess of broiling colours and voices and smells that filled the place. I stood frozen as aliens and humans ran around with data pads, shouting orders to workers and machinery. C-sec officers equipped with rifles interrogated ship captains and inspected documents. 

The culture shock was real.

I felt a helpless laugh bubble up in my chest that fell weakly from my lips. A nudge at my shoulder brought me back to myself. I looked up as Garrus strode past, nodding his head at the Commander who was already hailing a transit shuttle. “C’mon, kid,” he said. “Try not to fall behind.”

Kid? He can call me that. He is older than me.

I hurried after him, dodging the lumbering form of a Hanar as it crossed my path.

Miranda stood waiting by the open shuttle door, Shepard having already claimed shotgun. “Get in” said Miranda, one hand on her hip. “We’re wasting time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Garrus waved her off and climbed into the back seat. I climbed in after him and Miranda started up the shuttle.

I stared out the window as we flew. The arms of the citadel extended out above our heads, buildings growing from their surface at physics defying angles. Everywhere I looked the Citadel teemed with activity with people scurrying around, talking and working like insects in a hive.

The sheer scale of the station could put even the biggest city back home to shame.

“How many people live here?” I asked.

“Just over 13 million,” Miranda replied.

That’s half the population of Australia in an area roughly the size of Brisbane City.

“I’m guessing you’ve never been to the Citadel before?” asked Shepard.

“Not in person,” I replied. “It’s an impressive sight.”

“That it is.”

The shuttles landed after a quick minute and we all piled out. Shepard lead the way towards processing but she didn't get far because a familiar, accented voice called from the nearby advertisement column.

“Commander Shepard. Enter the password and receive a free gift.

Kasumi. Of course.

Shepard stopped in front of the flickering image of the thief and crossed her arms over her chest. “Silence is golden,” she said sounding unimpressed.

While Shepard was busy interrogating everyone's favourite thief, I shifted my gaze up to the walkway to the right where I knew she would make her appearance.

I shuffled a few steps over to get a better view and peered into the empty space, searching for that tell-tale glassy shimmer of the thief’s optical camouflage. I could feel Garrus and Miranda watching me with curious eyes as I gazed up at the walkway.

Soon enough, the tell tale shift of light gave away Kasumi’s arrival and I grinned up at where I guessed her face to be, wiggling my fingers in cheeky greeting.

The thief shimmered into existence, the dark gleam under her hood focused on me.

“You've got a sharp one there, Shepard,” she said. “No one has ever spotted me before.”

Shepard spun around, finding Kasumi standing on the maintenance grating before looking at me.

I still hadn’t taken my eyes off of the thief, but I grinned a little wider when I saw Shepard’s surprise out of the corner of my eye. “I'm can be exceptionally perceptive on occasion,” I said to Kasumi.

“We'll see about that,” Kasumi said turning her attention back to the Commander. “I'll see you back on the ship, Shepard. You look pretty silly talking to an advertisement for so long.”

She walked back along the walkway, her optical camouflage once again rendering her almost invisible to the naked eye.

To my left, Shepard heaved a sigh and rubbed at her forehead. “Of course,” she said, sounding resigned, before heading for C-sec processing.

My grin faltered a little as myself and the rest of the squad followed after her.

Just like in the game the officer at the door stopped Shepard from passing due to her deceased status. We were lead through to the desk area and Shepard got talking to Bailey about not being dead, leaving the rest of us to stand around and wait.

Garrus and Miranda stood nearby while I stood a little to the side. They waited patiently, trained eyes taking in their surroundings and searching for potential threats, and I just did my best to take everything in. 

It's strange knowing everything about somewhere or someone and them knowing nothing about you. You already know the answers to all the questions you can ask, so you don't ask. That can be a problem because you can look antisocial and mistrustful. I needed to eliminate that barrier between the crew and me.

“You used to work for C-sec, right Garrus?” I blurted out, turning my head to look at him.

The Turian fixed me with his strange, dark eyes, mandibles twitching with what I assumed to be surprise. “I did,” he said after a moment.

“Do you ever miss it?” I asked. 

“No,” he replied. “I definitely don't miss the red tape, but I suppose after spending so long working for them I can appreciate the work they do.”

I nodded. Back home, my roommate had been studying criminal justice so she could join the police force. It always struck me as something of a noble pursuit; certainly not for the faint of heart.

Shepard stopped talking to Bailey and gave us a nod. “Alright, let's move,” she said.

She led the way past the pair of Krogan arguing over fish in the Presidium to the next transit vehicle. We all piled in, Miranda again taking the wheel which, by all accounts of Shepard’s bad driving, was a good thing.

This trip was significantly longer than the one previous which meant I had longer to appreciate the wonders of the Citadel. From the slope of the artificial sky to the sleek curved glass of the Presidium towers, I was in awe.

“Did they change much of the Presidium after Sovereign’s attack?” I asked no one in particular as we came into view of the main tower.

“Nothing major,” Garrus replied. “A few changes to layout and wiring, here and there but everything is essentially the same. Why do you ask?”

I shrugged, keeping my eyes glued to the view. “Just curious.”

We landed in view of the Presidium reception desk, all of us following after a swift moving Shepard as she inquired after the human embassy. We’d walked past a few Asari already, but now I had a moment to look closer at her strange, scaled skin. Ocean blue, shining iridescent in the light, captivating. I could definitely see the attraction. 

I coughed awkwardly, realising I was openly staring and distracted myself with taking in the alien perfection of the surrounding area.

The few trees in nearby garden beds looked almost artificial with how unblemished the leaves were. They were too green, the soil beneath them too clean. There were no birds chirping or insects buzzing. The air was too crisp without being fresh. It was… odd.

I wandered a few steps towards the gardens to get a better look but my omnitool gave a harsh beep that was echoed behind me.

“Where are you going?” Shepard called over her shoulder from the desk.

Startled, I spun around pointing at the garden behind me. “I was just looking at the trees,” I explained.

“Well look at them later,” she said walking towards the stairs leading up to the left. “I have someone to meet.”

Shepard led the way up the stairs and down a corridor. We walked past a number of doors, and I barely noticed when Miranda disappeared from my peripheral vision. A few moments later, Miranda called, “Shepard,” and we all turned to see her standing, arms crossed, by a door marked with the Embassy symbol.

Shepard did a double take at the door. “Ah, of course,” she muttered and strode back to her second-in-command.

I raised a brow and exchanged a look with Garrus, but said nothing. 

Shepard stood stiffly in front of the door for a moment. Her shoulders rose with a breath before she stepped forward, the doors wooshing open to make way.

We followed her in, interrupting Captain, or rather  _ Councillor _ , Anderson and the rest of the Council.

Garrus, Miranda and I stopped at the base of the steps while Shepard stepped forward to greet them.

“Shepard!” said Anderson, moving to meet the Commander. “We were just talking about you. It’s good to have you back”

“Good to see you too, Anderson.”

The pair exchanged a handshake and proud, soldierly smiles. Anderson looked older, more worn, in person; like he had been chiselled from the stress of politics and war. His voice rumbled with command and precision, it was easy to see why people like him and listened to him. As for the other Council members, they looked like the originals so Shepard must have saved the Destiny Ascension during the Battle of the Citadel.

The wide, reptilian eyes of the Salarian Councillor flickered over to Shepard’s companions and myself before he address Shepard. “We’ve heard many rumors surrounding your unexpected return. Some of them are… unsettling,” he began, and their conversation went on to discuss the Collector attacks.

I was pretty sure Udina showed up during this scene. Speaking of the ambassador, I hadn't really thought about what to do with him yet. He gets indoctrinated and lets Cerberus onto the Citadel, right? Something had to be done about that. But what? 

As if on queue, Udina strode through the door saying, “Anderson, we need to talk about” He cut himself short upon seeing Shepard standing by the Councilman. “Shepard! What are you doing here?”

“I’m visiting an old friend,” Shepard said.

Udina’s eyes flicked to Anderson. “Is that so,” he said slowly.

“You sound displeased, Ambassador,” Shepard said, leaning back on her heel and crossing her arms.

“Do I?”

“What did you need, Udina?” Anderson cut in.

While they spoke, I turned to Miranda, drawing the operative’s attention away from the conversation at hand. “Does Udina currently have ties to Cerberus?” I asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”

I frowned. No current ties to Cerberus, and he’s not yet indoctrinated. Not a lot could be done without evidence that didn’t exist yet. What I didn’t get was how Udina got indoctrinated in the first place. When was he exposed to Reaper tech for an extended period of time? Or was he not indoctrinated in the first place, just acting on what he thought was best?

I tuned back into the the conversation in time to hear Anderson deliver a solid burn to Udina

“How's Council life treating you, Anderson?”

Anderson huffed a laugh and said, “It's a job that needs doing, so I'll get it done.” 

They moved further up the balcony and out of earshot to have a more private chat while the rest of us hung around and waited. After a few minutes, Shepard shook hands with Anderson once more and returned to the squad and me. “We’re done here,” she said, leading the way out to the Presidium.

I sent a smile and a wave to Anderson on my way out receiving a look of pleasant confusion as he almost unconsciously waved back.

“Do you have to wave at everyone you meet?”

“It feels polite.”

On our way back to the Normandy, Shepard requested we stop at some vendors to look for some new gear. I stuck close to Shepard and the others, more for fear of getting lost than because of the proximity program, as we disembarked the transit and plunged into the busy market place. 

It was louder and brighter than the Docking Bay by far. Merchant haggled with customers of all races, signs flashed with different advertisements and played audio clips that overlapped with each other, fighting for attention.

A Hanar lumbered into my path and I stumbled away, backing straight into Miranda. She gave an irritated scowl and walked on leaving me feeling sheepish and overwhelmed. I closed my eyes for a moment before opening them and finding Shepard’s distinct armour in a small clearing up ahead. I closed the short distance to where she and Garrus were talking while Miranda stood to the side, tapping away at her omnitool.

“If you don’t mind, Shepard,” Garrus was saying, “I’m going to check out that weapons vendor we passed by earlier.”

Shepard nodded. “Meet back at the Normandy by 1400 hours,” she said.

Garrus nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

“Anything you need, Morgan?” She asked me.

I shook my head with a shrug. “How do I pay for things?” I asked. “Do I even have money?”

“Cerberus provides you with an allowance as part of your employment,” Miranda said without looking up from her screen.

“Huh.”

“If you don’t want to buy anything now, we can put in a requisition order for anything you need later,” said Shepard.

“Alright.” I bobbed my head and watched as a pack of Volus wheezed by, debating trade routes. “I think I’m good for now,” I said.

“In that case, I need-” Shepard paused and looked past me, concern slowly overtaking her face. “Miranda?”

“Commander,” Miranda’s voice was grim as she looked up from her omnitool. “We've got a problem.”

Shepard’s frown deeped and dread crept into my chest.“What is it?” Shepard asked.

“It's one the dossiers, Zaeed Massani,” she said. “He's dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy butts I am so sorry this took so long! There was a flood (my house is fine) and a camp (it was fun) and my mum is off chemo (hooray!). Thanks to all of you who have stuck around and to all those new followers who didn't let me forget about this story.  
> ~BLOOPERS~  
> Shepard: Glad you clothes are still on?  
> Jaime: Maybe…  
> Shepard: You’d rather them off?  
> Jaime: Only if yours go too.  
> Shepard: What?  
> Jaime: What?  
> I always love hearing from you guys, so leave a review and I’ll leave you a reply! If you’d like to leave more specific feedback, I’d like to know what you guys think of Jamie as a character - like or dislike? What you think she looks like? Would you like to befriend her? Etc etc...  
> See you next chapter for the aftermath of that news and some unexpected developments in preparation for Priority: Horizon!

**Author's Note:**

> I created this story for two reasons: 1. Ever since playing Mass Effect I have felt like the crew were my family, and I wanted to explore how that would actually work. 2. There are a series of jokes/scenarios that I have always wanted to share with you guys and this was the best way I could think to do it.  
> Anyways, at it's most basic form, this story is self-indulgent writing practice. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter and I look forward to your responses.


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